


Back In Time For More Trouble

by Ytteb



Series: Back In Time [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:30:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14659449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Gibbs and McGee travel to Plymouth UK in 1931 to liaise once more with Paddington-DiNozzo. As the title implies, trouble follows!This is a follow up to 'Back in Time for Trouble' but I think it can be read independently of that story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow up to a previous story ‘Back in Time for Trouble’ – I don’t think you need to have read that story to understand this one as I’ll try to explain things as I go along although, if you haven’t read the first story, there are ‘spoilers’ for it in this one.

PLYMOUTH 1931

"Move it, McGee!" said Jethro Gibbs as he jumped out of the taxi.

Timothy McGee sighed and wondered how often he had sighed since first meeting Jethro Gibbs. He reached into his pocket and drew out the money for the fare. "Thank you," he said to the driver.

"You got a right one there, Mister," said the driver. "Good luck!" and he touched the brim of his cap in farewell.

McGee might have engaged in friendly conversation with the taxi driver but Gibbs was already sprinting through the doors in his usual determined fashion, so he just settled for a heartfelt, “Thanks!” before seizing his bags and following.

McGee experienced a slight sense of deja-vu when he saw Gibbs standing belligerently in front of the police reception desk confronting the officer who sat there with a benign, but firm, expression on his face.  Momentarily, McGee was transported back three years to his first visit to England in the company of Gibbs although at that time Gibbs had been confronting a Metropolitan Police constable rather than a Plymouth City version.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” enunciated Gibbs in much the same tone as he had three years before.  “From Washington.”

“Ah,” said the constable, “That explains it.”

McGee shook his head as if this might halt the re-run of the earlier events but before he could speak he was interrupted by a familiar voice,

“Stop teasing our American friends, Travers!  We don’t want to give them the wrong impression, do we?”

Constable Travers swung his head around slowly before saying, “If you say so, Sir.”  McGee thought he could spot a twinkle in the policeman’s eye and suspected that they were indeed being teased.  “Are these the Americans you was expecting, Detective Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo?” he asked while fixing the visitors with a firm gaze.

“How many Americans do you think I’m expecting, Travers?” asked the Chief Inspector.

“I wouldn’t like to say, Sir,” said Travers heavily, “I’ve learned to expect the unexpected,” he added gloomily.  He winked at McGee but immediately resumed a blank expression when Gibbs stared at him.

“Good to see you again, Gibbs,” said the Chief Inspector as he held out his hand to Gibbs.

“Yeah,” said Gibbs as he grasped the hand.

“Still talking the hind legs off a donkey, I see,” observed Paddington-DiNozzo.

Gibbs grinned but didn’t say anything.

“I thought you were bringing McGee with you,” said Paddington-DiNozzo as he turned to Gibbs’ companion.

“I did,” said Gibbs.

“He did,” said McGee at the same time.

“McGee?” said the Chief Inspector in surprise.  He looked more closely, “You’re right!  I’m sorry, McGee – I didn’t recognise you.”

“Guessed that,” huffed Gibbs.

“You look …”

“Different,” said McGee, “I get that a lot.”

“Lost 21 pounds and got fit,” said Gibbs laconically.

“So I see …”

“I’m not an analyst anymore,” said McGee, “I work out in the field now.  The physical requirements of the Office of Naval Intelligence are stricter for field operatives than for technical support.”

“Yes,” said Paddington-DiNozzo, “Or is it Gibbs’ requirements that are stricter?” he asked shrewdly.

McGee winced.

“Good to see you, Tim,” a hand was held out to shake.

“You too, Tony … I mean, Sir.  I mean, Detective Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo.”

“Tony’s fine.  Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo has got about eight too many syllables.  Why not call me PD – that’s what people call me down here.”  A grunt drew his attention, “But I seem to remember that Gibbs didn’t approve of that.  Call me DiNozzo if you prefer.  I’m sure that’s what Gibbs will go with.”

For a moment, McGee had a _trapped in the headlights_ expression but then he simply said, “Yes, Sir.”

“Come through to my office,” directed DCI Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo AKA PD AKA Tony or, in Gibbs’ case, DiNozzo.

“Bit different to where you were last time,” commented Gibbs as they followed DiNozzo.

“Not so much traffic,” agreed Tony.

“Too quiet for you?” asked Gibbs.

Tony laughed, “A port with sailors?  Don’t think that’s ever going to be quiet, Gibbs!  Or are your _American_ sailors always well behaved?”

“No, guess not,” said Gibbs.

“In here,” directed Tony as he opened the door to his office.  “Put your gear down.  I’ll rustle up some … coffee.”

Gibbs nodded and sat down pointing to another chair for McGee as permission for him to sit as well.  Tony left them, carefully closing the door behind him.  Gibbs saw McGee’s puzzled expression,

“Don’t worry, McGee.  Don’t think DiNozzo’s worried we’re going to be attacked by the Plymouth constabulary.  Remember his room at Scotland Yard last time?”  McGee shook his head.  “Smoke free,” said Gibbs.  McGee nodded as he finally remembered that Tony’s lungs had been compromised during his service in the 1914-18 war: that was the reason he had transferred down to Plymouth in the West Country to escape the perilous foggy London winters.

Three years before, McGee and Gibbs had been despatched to London to work on a case and had been assigned to Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo who was working on his last case at Scotland Yard.  Tony had somehow managed to breach Gibbs’ barriers and an unlikely friendship of sorts had been established with Tony even taking Gibbs to meet his family in a quiet Oxfordshire village where the marine had taken his first steps to a recovery from the shellshock he had received during his own service in the Great War.

That assignment had been McGee’s first with the Office of Naval Intelligence and, unexpectedly, he had acquired a taste for the adrenalin rush of hazardous work in the field.  He and Gibbs had ended up forming an unofficial partnership with Tim being first Gibbs’ preferred researcher and later, after training, his colleague in all aspects of investigations.

Tony was soon back bearing a tea tray which McGee hoped, for his own self-preservation, also held a pot of coffee.

“How was the crossing?” asked Tony as he set down the tray.

Having ascertained that coffee was being served as well as tea, McGee relaxed enough to groan.

“That bad, huh?” asked Tony.

“You need to get over being seasick, McGee,” said Gibbs sternly, “It was bracing.  Blows the cobwebs away.”

McGee forbore to mention that they had gone through a Force 7 gale and that even the First Officer had been seasick, “Yes, Boss,” he said meekly.

“Horatio Nelson got seasick,” said Tony helpfully.

“Who?” asked Gibbs.

“Greatest British sailor of all time,” said Tony informatively.

Gibbs sighed as he remembered Tony’s penchant for imparting what he considered to be useful knowledge.  Gibbs had a different definition.

“Don’t remember hearing much about him in the American Revolutionary War,” said Gibbs taking a random shot.

Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly, “He was just getting warmed up,” he said.  “Just as well, otherwise things might have been different.”

Tim reached for tact, “Great cookies … I mean, biscuits.  What are they?”

Tony grinned, “Bourbons.”

Gibbs’ face brightened, “Bourbon?”

“Not the drink, Gibbs,” corrected Tony, “They’re chocolate.  It’s believed …”

Gibbs’ groan interrupted yet another anecdote, “You know, I could almost think you’re playing for time, DiNozzo.  What’s up?”

Tony looked momentarily shifty, but he said, “Can’t old friends catch up after not seeing one another for three years?  I’m hurt, Gibbs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gibbs, “But talking about Nelson and chocolate cookies isn’t exactly getting reacquainted, is it?”

“I like to warm up gradually,” said Tony defensively.

“You?” asked Gibbs sceptically.

“OK,” confessed Tony, “It’s just that the ACC isn’t too happy that you’re here.”

“ACC?” asked Gibbs.

“Uh, Assistant Chief Constable, Boss,” supplied McGee, “But I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t know what it meant.  I just thought you might … I’ll stop speaking now …”

“Tim’s right,” said Tony, “ACC is Assistant Chief Constable.  And my … Boss.”

“And?” probed Gibbs.

“And he doesn’t think we need help.”

“Doesn’t need upstart Yanks interfering?” suggested Gibbs.

Tony’s eyes flickered as he remembered the ACC’s exact words, “You could say that,” he conceded.

“But we’re here,” said Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony.

“At the request of the US government.”

“Yes.  And His Britannic Majesty’s government was pleased to accede to the request,” said Tony.

“So my government persuaded your government?”  Tony nodded.  “But not your ACC?”

“He’s a tough nut,” said Tony.

“Who persuaded him, then?” asked McGee as he swallowed the last of the biscuits.

“Ah,” said Tony, “It was a pincer movement.  The Chief and I persuaded him.”

“I thought you were the chief,” said Gibbs.

“Chief Constable,” corrected Tony.

“And a Chief Constable outranks a Chief Inspector?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes,” agreed Tony.

“But an Inspector outranks a Constable?” pressed Gibbs.

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Gibbs.

Tony shrugged.

“Now who’s playing for time?” asked Tony.

Gibbs decided to bypass the _chitchat_ , “So, do we need to see him?”

“Yes.  ACC Paget likes to keep his finger on the pulse of things,” said Tony.

“Let’s go then,” said Gibbs, gulping down the last mouthful of coffee and standing up.

“Not yet,” said Tony, “You’re here earlier than I expected.  Which,” Tony raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, “Shows a lack of planning on my part.  I should have remembered that Storm Gibbs always blows in quicker than expected …”

“We caught the milk train,” said McGee mournfully.  “Just … it was about to pull out when we got to Southampton station.”

“Ah,” said Tony.

“They don’t have a restaurant car on those trains,” said McGee even more mournfully.

“Bit early for a buffet car,” said Tony.

“Yes,” sighed McGee.

Tony looked at Tim and wondered if it wasn’t the exacting physical standards which had caused McGee’s impressive weight loss but rather spending time with Gibbs who never seemed to need to eat.

The finer shades of McGee’s sorrow seemed to pass Gibbs by, “So, we’re here early.  When can we see Paget?”

Tony looked at his watch, “Not for another two hours.  And, no, you can’t see him before that.  Go and have lunch somewhere.  There are places by the Quay.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “You coming?”

“Er, I’ve had something to eat,” said Tony.

McGee and Gibbs stared at Tony.  One of their memories of three years before was that Tony had a healthy appetite and rarely turned down a chance to eat.

“What?” asked Tim.

“I had lunch … before …” said Tony making a vague gesture towards his desk.

“You don’t want to come too?” asked Tim.

“You gonna miss out on a chance to give us the guided tour?” asked Gibbs.  In addition to memories of Tony’s appetite, Gibbs also remembered how Tony couldn’t help but dispense ‘useful’ information about the local area.

“No,” said Tony, “Unless you think you’ll get lost?”

Gibbs bristled at the implication that a US Marine could get lost so easily.

“Didn’t the Pilgrim Fathers said from here somewhere?” asked McGee innocently, “It would be a pity to miss that.”

“And didn’t that Nelson guy hang out here?” pressed Gibbs, “Something about playing cricket?”

“Drake,” said Tony in a longsuffering voice, “Drake – Sir Francis Drake.  And it was bowls, not cricket!  OK, OK, I give up.  I’ll come with you.”

McGee was surprised to spot a slightly smug look on Gibbs’ face and wondered if he’d missed something.

XXXXXX

It wasn’t long before they were all sitting on the quay waiting for their orders to arrive although it seemed that Tony really wasn’t hungry as he only ordered a pot of tea for himself.

“So,” said Gibbs, “Do you like it here?”

“Pardon?” replied Tony.

“Plymouth, do you like being a Chief Inspector?”

“It’s fine,” said Tony.  “Different to Scotland Yard, but good.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

McGee felt something was required of him, “The air seems a lot cleaner,” he commented.

“Yes, it’s fine,” said Tony.

“And you’re … fine?” asked McGee.

“Yes.  Thank you.  And how are you?  Both of you?”

“Fine,” said Tim.

“Yes, fine,” said Gibbs.

“Thanks for asking,” said McGee politely.

Tony poured a cup of tea as a diversion from the odd conversation.  “The Mayflower Steps are just down there,” he pointed.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Thought you were interested in finding out about the history?” said Tony.

“We are,” said McGee hastily, “So the Mayflower set sail from there?”  He looked misty eyed for a moment.

“Yes,” confirmed Tony, “But other places claim it too.  Nothing’s ever settled.”

“Oh,” said McGee as he picked up an undertone of weariness in Tony’s voice.  He was distracted, however, by the arrival of their meals.

“Enjoy your lunch,” said Tony, “I’ll see you back at the station in about an hour.”  And he was gone.

“Gibbs?” asked Tim.

“Eat your food,” said Gibbs.

XXXXXX

Assistant Chief Constable Cyril Paget ran a tight ship in Plymouth, so it was no surprise that Gibbs, McGee and DiNozzo were ushered into his office exactly on schedule.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as he pointed to the seats placed before his desk.  He studied the papers on his desk before frowning and then looking suspiciously at the new arrivals.

“I am puzzled,” he said after a long pause, “As to why the Office of Naval Intelligence felt it was necessary to dispatch two of its operatives to these shores.”

Gibbs sensed that McGee, out of pure nerves, might try to fill the silence,

“My superiors are considering establishing a new post, Sir.”  ACC Paget gazed at him bleakly.  “To supervise and watch over sailors – both when they are ashore and at sea.”

“Yes,” said Paget.

“And they decided the visit of the USS Nevada would be a good opportunity to put that plan into action,” said Gibbs.

“Am I to understand that US Naval vessels never visit US ports?”

“Of course not, Sir,” said Gibbs.

“Then why are _we_ being used as test subjects in your experiments?”

“I couldn’t say, Sir,” said Gibbs blandly, “I go where I’m told.”

“Hmph,” said Paget.  “And there is nothing else behind your visit?”

“Sir?”

“You don’t have any suspicions that something untoward is going to happen when the USS Nevada arrives?”

“No, Sir,” replied Gibbs.

“Hmph,” said the ACC again.  “And what do you require from our force?”

“Very little, Sir,” said Gibbs ignoring a stifled laugh from DiNozzo.  “Just to know that we are here.  And that if there should be any trouble involving American sailors we would want to be involved in any action taken.”

“I understand that you are a gunnery sergeant with the Marine Corps, Mr Gibbs,” said Paget.

“Yes, Sir.”

“On secondment to your Office of Naval Intelligence.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“For 10 years.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“This seems to be a rather _lowkey_ assignment for such an experienced person.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Sir.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”  For a moment there was something like a twinkle in Paget’s eyes.  “But I have been told to offer you, and your colleague, every co-operation …”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And much like you, I follow orders.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well.  As DCI Paddington-DiNozzo has worked with you before I am assigning him as your liaison.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Welcome to Plymouth, gentlemen.  Good afternoon,” Paget returned his attention to his papers and his visitors realised they were being dismissed.  Just as they got to the door, however, Paget spoke again, “PD, a word, if you please.”

McGee and Gibbs left the office as Tony turned back,

“Do you buy this, PD?” asked Paget.

“Sir?”

“You know what I mean.  Do you think these two have been sent to practise babysitting a bunch of sailors?”

“Well …”

“Well, what?”

“I agree it seems odd, but I did wonder … it is possible … that they are getting rid of Gibbs.”

“Explain.”

“Gibbs, despite what he just said, speaks his mind … I think it gets him into trouble sometimes.  This might be a way of punishing him … or getting him out of the way for a few weeks.”

“Hmm, I don’t know what’s worse – the Yanks thinking we need help policing their sailors or using us as somewhere to get rid of their troublemakers!”

“No, Sir.”

“All right, that’s all.  Keep an eye on them.  I know you’re busy, got a lot on your plate but do what you can, PD.  I don’t want them on their own too much.”

“No, Sir.  I understand.”

“And let me know if you think they are up to something else.  The navy base here has got some highly classified work going on … the Americans may be our allies but if we share our secrets I want it to be on our terms not theirs.”

“Sir.”

Paget nodded and Tony walked away suppressing a groan.  He found Gibbs and McGee waiting for him a few yards down the corridor.

“When does the Nevada make port?” he asked.

“Day after tomorrow,” said McGee.

“Gives you a day to get acquainted with the place,” said Tony.  “I’ll assign you a constable tomorrow to show you around.”

“Not you?” asked Gibbs.

“No,” said Tony.  “DCI here is busier than being an Inspector in London – especially when the DCI is not winding down on his last case.  I’ll see you when I can.  Where are you staying?”

“Paradise Road,” said McGee. “Near the Devonport base.”

“Give me the address.  I drive in that way in the morning.  I can pick you up early tomorrow,” said Tony.

“McGee,” said Gibbs gesturing towards Tony to indicate he should provide the address.  “What time?” he asked with a hint of suspicion; he never really expected other people’s definition of _early_ to align with his.

“7 o’clock,” said Tony.

Gibbs nodded: it wasn’t his usual definition of early but he’d take it for a day which was intended as an orientation day.

“I have work to do,” announced Tony as they got back to his office.  “You OK for the rest of the day?  I’ll assign you someone tomorrow.”

“Sure,” said Gibbs meekly.  “We’ll look around.  I expect McGee’s brought a map.”

“Yes,” said McGee as he began to root around in his briefcase.

Tony grinned as he remembered McGee’s ever-present state of preparedness.  “You can leave stuff here if you want.  Save lugging it around Plymouth.”

“Oh,” said McGee doubtfully, “I’m not sure …”

“We’ll go to the boarding house,” decided Gibbs, “And then come back into town.  Look around.

McGee looked relieved not to be leaving his gear with Tony and happily scooped his bags up.

“You can get a taxi outside,” said Tony, “Paradise Road’s a bit of a hike … especially if Tim’s bags are as full as they were before.”

McGee smiled as he remembered why he’d liked Tony when they met before.

“OK.  We’ll walk back in later,” announced Gibbs.

XXXXXX

It was about 9pm when Tony returned home that night and he realised that he probably should not have been surprised to find Gibbs sitting on the garden wall.

“Gibbs?  You lost?” he asked.

“Nope,” said Gibbs peaceably.

“You haven’t murdered McGee, have you?”

“Nope.”

“Then I give up.  What are you doing here?”

“Mix up with the boarding house,” said Gibbs.

“What sort of mix up?” asked Tony.

“Don’t know,” shrugged Gibbs, “But they only had one room.”

“Huh.  Couldn’t you share with Tim?”

“Nope.  He snores.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he considered this.  Somehow, he thought that McGee was far too considerate to be guilty of snoring, “And you’re such a light sleeper that you need complete silence?”

Gibbs shrugged again, “What can I say?”

“I don’t know.  What can you say?”

“I thought I could stay with you.  You know, until I find somewhere else.”

Tony knew there was a flaw in the argument somewhere but found that he was too tired to argue – especially as he suspected he wouldn’t win – so innate courtesy won out, “All right, come in.”

“Thanks.  Your wife won’t mind, will she?”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 “Come in,” said Tony as he opened his front door.  “You eaten?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs.  “Have you?”

“Who are you?  My mother?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “And I’m not your Aunt Charlotte either.  Or Mrs Pond.”  Gibbs was referring to Lady George Paddington who had brought Tony up after his mother died in America and her housekeeper, Mrs Pond.

“Good to know,” said Tony.  “Yes, I’ve eaten.”

“You’re late,” commented Gibbs.

“Again,” said Tony, “Who are you, my mother?”

Gibbs shrugged in answer.

“Busy job,” said Tony.  “You should know, police work isn’t always 9 to 5.  And the Chief Inspector of uniform is on holiday at the moment so I’m keeping an eye on the uniformed branch as well as my detectives.  You want a drink?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs.  “Although it feels odd.”

“What does?”

“People having liquor in their houses openly.  I’m still used to Prohibition back home.”

“That why you angled for this assignment?” asked Tony.

“No.”

“You avoiding 4th July back home?”

“Huh?”

“I seem to remember you having a problem when you visited before … you know, cannons practising royal salutes and it being Guy Fawkes Night.”

“I remember,” said Gibbs.  He thought for a moment before adding, “I won’t say I enjoy those loud noises but I’m better than I was.”

“You don’t need to drink to blot it all out?” asked Tony.

“No.”

“Good,” said Tony.

“You were right,” said Gibbs.

“I often am,” said Tony smugly.

“And Dr Mallard was right,” said Gibbs.

“He often is too.  But don’t tell him I said so.”

“He, and you, suggested that I ask for help,” said Gibbs.

“And you did?  Don’t get me wrong but I’m sort of surprised,” admitted Tony.

“It took a while,” said Gibbs, “But I decided I couldn’t go on as I had been.  That it was time.  I think a change of scenery, change of perspective helped.”

“I’m glad,” said Tony.  “Is that why you’re back?  You need a change of scenery again?”

Gibbs shrugged again.  “Thought you said something about a drink?”

“I did.  What do you want?  I’ve got some Scotch …”

“Any bourbon?”

“Only in biscuits!  I’ve got some Irish whiskey, beer or I think there’s some cider.”

“Cider?”

“Oh, it’s the alcoholic type.  Pretty much the only sort we have here.  Locally made scrumpy.”

“Scrumpy?”

“Don’t be fooled.  It might sound like a children’s drink but it’s rough and strong.  What am I saying?  You’ll love it.”

“OK.  I’ll go for some of that,” agreed Gibbs.

“One scrumpy coming up.  I won’t join you, I’ll have a whisky.”

Gibbs looked around the sitting room into which he had been shown, “You make a habit of moving house?”

“What?”

For answer, Gibbs waved a hand at the packing cases which lay around.  The first time he had visited Tony’s flat (apartment) in London, Tony had been in the process of moving.

“No,” said Tony, “We’ve been having some alterations done.  Had to store some things.  Haven’t got around to unpacking them yet.  Don’t worry, I know where the glasses are.”

Gibbs resisted shrugging again but he would have been happy to drink from the bottle if necessary.  He took a cautious mouthful from the tankard Tony gave him and then took another before smacking his lips in appreciation.  “That’s good.  Prohibition would be over if we got this back home.”

“I’d say it was an acquired taste,” said Tony, “Except you’ve acquired it fast!”

“I’m a quick study,” said Gibbs.

Tony sat back in a comfy leather chair opposite Gibbs and sipped gently from his tumbler of whisky.

“So, you’re doing all right?” he asked Gibbs.

“Getting there,” said Gibbs.

Tony gazed at his guest as if trying to discern the truth and then said, “Good to see you, Gibbs.  Although I’m not sure I buy your story.”

“Story?” said Gibbs innocently.

“You know what I mean.  I find it hard to believe that you’ve come here on a babysitting exercise for Yank sailors.”

“I go where I’m sent,” said Gibbs blandly.

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe as well,” said Tony drily.  “Oh well, I suppose I should just ask you to stay out of trouble … and if you don’t … well, come to me sooner rather than later.”

“Of course,” said Gibbs with continued innocence.  He took another mouthful of his rough cider and then said, “So, your wife won’t mind me being here?”

“How did you know I’m married?” asked Tony.

“Turns out Lady George is a good correspondent,” said Gibbs.

“Aunt Lottie writes to you?” asked Tony in surprise.

“When she has something important to write about,” said Gibbs.

“Like me getting married?”

“Like you getting married.  Even sent me a newspaper cutting.  From the Titler, I think.”

“Tatler,” corrected Tony.

“Said it was the society wedding of the year,” gloated Gibbs.

Tony groaned, “Only in Oxfordshire.  And it was a quiet year.”

“I guess that’s what happens when the grandson of an earl gets married,” said Gibbs reflectively.

“You know,” said Tony, “I just don’t picture you reading about weddings, society or not.”

“Don’t make a habit of it,” admitted Gibbs, “But it would be rude not to read what your aunt sends me.”

“I suppose so,” said Tony.

“So, to go back to my original question.  She won’t mind me being here?”

“Lucy … formerly Lucy Masefield … is a friendly person,” said Tony, “She wouldn’t mind but, as it happens, she’s not here to mind.”

“Oh?”

“As I said, we’ve been having some alterations doing.  She … moved out for a while.  Gone to stay with her aunt – who happens to be married to ACC Paget.”

“Good to keep it in the family,” said Gibbs with a smile.

“Yes, it is,” said Tony without a smile.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m beat.  I’m going to bed. I’ll show you where you can sleep.  You still want me to pick McGee up at 7 o’clock?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs.

“I’ll wake you at 6 o’clock then,” Tony gazed at Gibbs, “Or more likely, you’ll wake _me_ at 6!”

Gibbs nodded.  Tony sighed.

XXXXXX

It turned out that Tony did have to wake Gibbs up; it seemed that life in Prohibition America might have undermined the Gibbs tolerance for alcohol or perhaps it was the effect of drinking scrumpy for the first time.

Tony didn’t comment but made the coffee even stronger than usual and only offered Gibbs toast for breakfast.

Unsurprisingly, McGee was waiting for them when they pulled up outside the guest house.

“You got a new car!” he said.

“It’s been three years,” said Tony a little defensively.

“It’s an Austin 12,” said McGee knowledgeably, “Bigger than your Austin 7, it’s got a 1660cc engine, 4 speed centrally controlled gear box and the chassis …”

“McGee!” snapped Gibbs, “It’s a car!  Get in.”

“Yes, Boss,” said McGee as he climbed in the back.  He whispered to Tony, “It’s a _nice_ car, Tony!”

Tony nodded and then noticed what McGee was carrying, “What’s that, Tim?”

“Oh,” Tim blushed, “Mrs Damerell … she’s the landlady … she thought I’d like something for lunch.  She packed me some pasties and some of her apple cake.”

Tony grinned, “That undernourished look works well for you, does it, McGee?”

Tim chose not to answer but clutched his bag of food a little closer.

Tim clutching his supplies seemed to cheer Tony up and he gave his passengers a running commentary on the Plymouth sights as they drove along.  Gibbs allowed it all to wash over him, but McGee tried frantically to follow everything in his recently acquired guide book.

“McGee,” said Gibbs sternly.

“Boss?” asked McGee absently as he placed a finger to mark his page in the book.

“Stop it,” said Gibbs.

“Boss?”

“You’ll get motion sickness if you try and read the damned book while we’re driving.”

“Yes, Boss,” said McGee.

Gibbs and Tony both grinned at how much Tim sounded like a sulky teenager obeying his father.

As they approached the police station, Tony spoke again,

“I’ve got a meeting of my inspectors and sergeants this morning.  Take about an hour.  I’ll introduce you to your liaison afterwards.  What do you want to do?  You can wait here or come back.”

“We’ll come back,” said Gibbs, “McGee could do with the fresh air.”

McGee looked a little startled at this rare concern for his wellbeing but nodded obediently and scurried after Gibbs.  When they were outside he said,

“Er, Boss … why are we here?”

“Because DiNozzo’s in a meeting.  Weren’t you listening, McGee?”

“Um, yes, Boss, of course, Boss.  No, I don’t mean _here_ – well, I do mean here but I really mean _here here_.”

“McGee,” groaned Gibbs, perhaps regretting his introduction to scrumpy, “Say what you mean.”

“Yes, Boss.  Sorry, Boss …”

“You know, McGee, I’m thinking of drawing up some rules …”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Yes, McGee.  And one of them will be _don’t apologise_.”

“Why not apologise, Boss?”

“Partly because it’s a sign of weakness but mostly because it’s damned annoying!”

“Oh, I see, Boss. Sor- … no, not sor-.”

“So, what were you talking about?”

“Er, I was making sure I wasn’t … you know … apologising … now that I know you have strong feelings about that.”

Gibbs groaned again, “No, not that.  When you were asking something about why we were somewhere?”

“Oh, I see, Boss.  I was asking why we’re here …”

Gibbs groaned again.

“I mean, why were we sent on this assignment?” said McGee finally achieving clarity.

“You questioning our orders?”

“No, Boss.  Of course not … it’s just that …”

“What, McGee?”

“It doesn’t seem our usual type of assignment.”

“And what is our _usual_ type of assignment?”

“You know … espionage, corruption, violence against the Navy or Marine Corps.”

“And you don’t think that’s what’s going on here?” asked Gibbs ominously.

“Er … no?”

Gibbs stared at McGee for an uncomfortably long period before shrugging, “Ah well, you know what they say?”

“Do I?”

“Change is as good as a rest.”

“It is?”

“So they say.  Perhaps our superiors feel we deserve a rest.”

McGee couldn’t help but feel that was true but wished that the _rest_ hadn’t involved a journey by sea of more than 3500 miles.  He looked back at Gibbs and wondered what it was that he was missing.

“Come on, McGee, we’ll head back.”

XXXXXX

Tony was waiting for them at the reception desk when they got back.  PC Travers was on duty once more but looked more benevolently at Gibbs this time; Gibbs wondered if Tony had shared the story of the introduction to scrumpy the night before – perhaps it was a rite of passage that visitors to the West Country had to go through.

“Where is he then?” demanded Gibbs.

“Got held up,” said Tony.  “Don’t worry, he’ll be here.”

“We don’t need a liaison, anyway,” said Gibbs.  “We’ll be fine.  We’ve got McGee’s guidebook.”

Tony sighed, “Is that how your police officers are trained in America, Gibbs?  Just given a guidebook and sent out on their merry way?”

“Well, not _merry_ ,” conceded Gibbs with a rare attempt at humour.

Tony grinned, “You heard the ACC.  You’re getting a liaison.  Whether you like it or not.”

“Good God,” came a new voice, “If it isn’t PD himself!”

McGee, Gibbs and Tony swung around to see who was talking and McGee was surprised to see a look of annoyance flit across Tony’s face.

“Norris!” he said coolly, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m wounded,” said _Norris_ as he clasped a hand to his heart, “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

“Really?” said Tony sceptically.  “I can’t think why.”

“PD,” said Norris, “We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

Tony ignored the question, “What are you doing here?” he asked again.

“Who are your friends?” asked Norris nodding towards McGee and Gibbs.

“Um, Timothy McGee,” said Tim.  “And this is Jethro Gibbs.”

“You’re American!” said Norris delightedly.  “How wonderful.  I’m Christopher Norris.  PD and I were at Cambridge together.  Although he was reading natural sciences while I was reading philosophy.”

McGee’s eyes swivelled back to Tony, “You’re a _scientist?”_ he asked excitedly.

“Not really,” said Tony.  “Norris, I’m busy.  What do you want?”

“Nothing,” said Norris, “I merely came in to ask directions.  That’s what the police are here for, isn’t it?  If you want to know the way, ask a policeman.”

“It’s time, Norris.  If you want to know the _time_ , ask a policeman,” said Tony.

“Really?  Are you sure?  Well, as it happens, my watch has stopped.  Do you have the time?”

Gibbs tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the clock on the wall.

“You’re very laconic, aren’t you?” observed Norris.  He seemed to sense he was not being made welcome, “I’m here in Plymouth on business,” he announced.

“Business?  You?” asked Tony.

“I understand your disbelief,” said Norris, “I find it hard to believe myself.  But yes, I have joined the ranks of the _horny-handed sons of toil_.”

“Excuse me?” asked McGee.

“He’s working for a living, Tim,” said Tony impatiently.

“Alas, PD has hit the nail on the proverbial head,” sighed Norris.  “And you too are one of the labourers in the vineyard, my dear chap,” he continued.  “And I was quite prepared to see you polishing the buttons on your uniform but here you are actually wearing a suit,” he leaned forward and felt the lapel on Tony’s jacket.  “And a rather nice suit.  Although, not I think from Saville Row.”

“So, you’re here on business,” said Tony ignoring any attempt at small talk.

“Indeed.  I see you are as pertinacious as ever, PD.  I’m working in my uncle’s shipping business.  Did you know that Norris and Cartwright are one of the largest shipbuilding companies in England?  Seems extraordinary to me.  Never occurred to me that anyone in my family actually _worked_ for a living – such a notion completely passed me by.  Until, of course, my tailor’s bill arrived …”

“If you need directions,” said Tony, “PC Travers here will be pleased to help you.”

Norris ignored the dismissal, “We’re hoping to sell something to the American Navy,”

“Yeah?” said Gibbs.

“Ah, he speaks!” said Norris in excitement.  “Yes, that’s right.  And by great good luck it turns out that the Secretary of the Navy is on his way to Plymouth this very moment!”

“What?” asked Tony.

“Yes, he’s travelling on the USS Nevada.  Making port tomorrow, I understand.”

The accusing eyes of DiNozzo and McGee swung towards Gibbs, but he just stared blandly back.

“Well, toodle-pip,” said Norris cheerily, “I say, do people actually say that?  Anyway, I can tell that I am entirely _de-trop_ here, so I will leave you to your endeavours.  I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at some point during my stay.  And now, PC Travers, I wonder if I could avail myself of your good offices …”

“Constable!” called Tony when he saw a young man coming through the door.  “Here!”  Tony looked around and saw that Norris was taking a long time to ask directions, “Come on.  We’ll go out for coffee!”

XXXXXX

It wasn’t long before the four men were sitting at the same café Tony had taken them to the previous day.

“Gibbs, McGee,” said Tony, “Meet your liaison, PC Edward Dorneget.  Ned, this is Jethro Gibbs and Tim McGee.”

Dorneget held out his hand to shake but only Tim took it.  Gibbs simply gave him a cool appraising nod.

“Don’t worry, Ned,” said Tony, “He’ll warm up to you.  Possibly.  I don’t know if his bark is worse than his bite – fortunately he’s never bitten me.”

Gibbs huffed out something like a laugh and Dorneget relaxed a little.

“Ned was born and brought up in Plymouth,” said Tony, “So he knows the place better than most.  He can tell you what you need to know.  I suggest that he goes with you to Devonport and takes you around the base and introduces you to people.”

Gibbs nodded as he took a sip of his coffee and eyed the buns that accompanied it.

“Fine,” said Tony, “Ned, remember what I told you.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Dorneget.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” said Tony.  “Let me know if there are any problems.  And please …”

“Please what?” asked Gibbs.

“Don’t let there be any problems,” replied Tony.  “See you later.  Oh, and Gibbs?”

“Yes?”

“You going to look for somewhere to stay?”

“If I have time,” agreed Gibbs.

“Oh, what the hell,” laughed Tony.  “You might as well stay.  At least it means I can turn Norris away if he turns up at my door!”

Gibbs took a slightly smug sip of his coffee and directed a Marine Gunnery Sergeant glare at the hapless Dorneget, “So, Police Constable Dorneget … what did Detective Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo tell you?”

Dorneget swallowed anxiously and blinked, “Uh, to help you, Sir.”

“Ooh,” said McGee, “Not Sir, just Gibbs.”

Dorneget nodded, “Uh, to help you … er … Gibbs.”

Gibbs’ eyes narrowed, “You sure about that, Dorneget?”

Dorneget’s eyes also narrowed and, for a moment, the soft benignity of his expression faded, “Oh yes, Gibbs.  What else would he have said?”

Gibbs sighed; he should have known that DiNozzo wouldn’t have given them a pushover.

XXXXXX

Thirty-six hours later Tony arrived home thinking that things had, on the whole, gone better than he expected.

Christopher Norris had not returned to the police station.  Gibbs had dragged Dorneget throughout Plymouth but, so far, the young PC had survived.  Tony was a little more concerned about McGee who had a permanently anxious expression on his face as if he was trying to work something out but apart from that he seemed to be thriving on the diet supplied by Mrs Damerell.

The USS Nevada had docked earlier that morning and Tony hoped that Gibbs and McGee would now be occupied with their supposed assignment

Tony poured himself a tumbler of whisky, settled into his favourite arm chair and breathed a contented sigh.

Two minutes later the phone rang in the hall.

“Saltash 462,” said Tony.

“Sir!”

“Who is this?”

“Dorneget, Sir.  We have a problem!”

“What is it?” asked Tony.

“The American sailors … some of them are on shore leave.”

“Yes?”

“They went into a couple of pubs.”

“Yes?”

“They have Prohibition in America, Sir.”

“I know.”

“They’re not so used to drinking.”

“I know.  But surely they were told not to drink?” said Tony.

“Yes, Sir.  But …”

“But what?” asked Tony with a sinking feeling.

“They saw cider on sale … and … well … they’re not used to cider being alcoholic,” said Dorneget.  “Or at least, not as alcoholic as scrumpy.”

“I see,” said Tony.

“Gibbs asked if you could come.  It’s all got out of hand …”

“On my way,” sighed Tony.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Fortunately, a stiff breeze blew up the next morning helping to dispel the smell of vomit which hung over the city of Plymouth.

McGee had always thought that Tony was an amiable, easy-going sort of person but he found out that a sleep deprived DiNozzo was not someone to get on the wrong side of.

“What were you and McGee doing?” snapped Tony once it seemed that order had been restored.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“I thought the whole point of you being here – to _supervise and watch sailors when they are at sea and ON SHORE_!”

“It’s still being worked out,” said Gibbs, “There are some wrinkles to iron out!”

“You think!”

“Sure.  It’s not an official post yet, we’re working out what it might involve.”

“And last night gave us some ideas,” said McGee earnestly.

“I’m glad,” said Tony through teeth so gritted that it seemed he might not be being entirely truthful.

Gibbs and McGee both decided not to call Tony on his lack of honesty.

“Gibbs,” said Tony after taking a deep breath, “I trust that you will make sure nothing like this happens again?  Make sure the crew of the Nevada know the difference between cider in the US and cider here.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “And what will you do?”

Tony took another deep breath, “I will ensure that the publicans make sure that their customers know if they’re drinking alcohol and also to keep an eye on them to make sure they don’t drink more than they can hold.  _And_ I will ensure that no charges of drunk and disorderly conduct or criminal damage are brought.”  Gibbs nodded.  “This time,” warned Tony.  “If this happens again your sailors get the book thrown at them.”

“Understood,” said Gibbs.

“And I expect any damage done last night will be paid for by the US Navy,” he raised a hand to forestall any protest, “I don’t care how or by whom, but it will be done or the deal’s off.”

“Agreed,” said Gibbs, “But it would help if you could have some of your constables on patrol around the pubs tonight.”

Tony looked at Gibbs a little frostily but said calmly enough, “I agree.  And I trust that you and McGee will be making your presence known?”

“Yes,” said Gibbs.

This conversation had taken place on the quayside where the Nevada was tied up.  The last sorry sailor had trooped back on board and Tony turned to go.  At that moment the captain of the vessel came down the gangway,

“One moment, please.”

Tony turned back wearily.

“Gibbs,” ordered the captain, “Introduce me, please.”

“Captain Francis Dake, this is Detective Chief Inspector Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo of the Plymouth Police.  He’s acting as our liaison here.

“I’m _overseeing_ the liaison,” corrected Tony.  “Captain, it’s good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said the captain, “I’m sorry our visit got off to such a poor start.  I can assure it won’t happen again.”

“I hope not,” said Tony.

“I’m especially disappointed because I’ve always been a big admirer of the British Navy,” continued the captain.

“Yes?” said Tony politely.

“Case of having to be,” said Dake.  “My father was a naval historian.  Always disappointed his name didn’t have a R in it so he could be Drake.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “Is that why you’re called …”

“Francis?  Yes.  You can imagine how excited I am to come to a port so linked with Sir Francis Drake.”

“Of course, Sir.  Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

“I understand from my first officer that it’s you who have been most helpful in sorting all this out …”

“It was a … pleasure, Sir,” said Tony.

“Well, I doubt _that_ ,” said Dake, “But I thank you anyway.  Perhaps you could come to dinner one evening on board?”

“I’d like to but I’m very busy at the moment.”

“I understand … well, if you change your mind let Gibbs know.  I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of him.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Tony heavily.

“And I understand that the city is laying on a reception for us today – I insist you come to that.  I’ll introduce you to the Secretary of the Navy.  Although I’d prefer he didn’t find out about our first night ashore.”

“He doesn’t know, Sir?” asked Tony.

“No, he doesn’t arrive until later this morning.”

“Oh, I understood he was on board,” said Tony.

“No.  We spent a day in Cherbourg, France,” said Dake, “He stayed on for some discussions with his French counterpart, but he planned to be travelling overnight to join us.”

“I see,” said Tony.  “Well, I must be going.”

“I trust we will see you later, Mr Paddington …”

“DiNozzo,” supplied Tony, “Paddington-DiNozzo.”

“ _DiNozzo_ ,” said Dake thoughtfully, “That’s odd.  I feel I’ve heard that name recently.”

_“I_ told you his name,” said Gibbs who was getting tired of the polite nothings.

“Possibly,” mused Dake, “Yes, I’m sure that must be it.  Well, goodbye, Detective Chief Inspector, we mustn’t keep you from your work.”

Tony nodded and, this time, managed to escape.

XXXXXX

Gibbs and McGee decided they should attend the reception for the Nevada as a way of getting to know the crew a little better and to ensure that they stayed away from any alcohol being provided: an unnecessary precaution as it turned out as word had spread rapidly about the effect of cider and the organisers had decided on a dry celebration.

“Huh,” said Tim as he nursed an innocuous apple juice, “That Norris guy is here.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“You remember, that man who came into the police station while we were there.”

“Ah, Christopher Norris,” said Gibbs, “Seemed to know Tony.”

“I suppose it makes sense,” said Tim, “He said he was part of some big shipping firm.  I guess he’s here trying to do business.”

“Who’s that he’s talking to?” asked Gibbs looking at a man in his early 60s.

“Don’t know,” said McGee, “But he looks familiar.  Can’t place him, can you?”

“Nope.  But I get the feeling I’ve seen him before.”

“You know, Boss, I’m still trying to work out why we’re here …”

“ _McGee_ …” groaned Gibbs.

Tim wasn’t deterred, “I was speaking to some of the sailors last night.  You know, between puking sessions,” McGee winced at the memory, “And they said there’s some hush-hush work going on among the radio operators …”

“They told you that?” said Gibbs disapprovingly.

McGee hastened to try and exonerate them, “Nothing specific, Boss.  And they weren’t exactly feeling their best.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, “Seems that feeding our troops scrumpy cider is the way to get them to spill their secrets.”

“Not just _secrets,_ ” said Tim with another wince.

“Do you buy that, McGee?”

“Buy what, Boss?”

“That they didn’t know what they were drinking?”

McGee thought back to the agonised expressions on the victims’ faces, “Not sure, Boss.  Why?”

“Don’t know.  Reckon some of the older hands might have known what was going on.  Thought they could get away with it on the first night ashore.  Who knows?”

McGee decided not to be distracted, “So is that it then?  Are we here because of secret work on the Nevada?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, McGee.”

“’Cos when we went around the base, they were careful not to show us some areas,” continued McGee.  “And Ned mentioned that there’s secret work being done here.  I wondered if there might be a connection.”

“How so?” asked Gibbs.

“Tony looks pretty stressed.  Might be something up in the base that he’s involved with.  What do you think?”

“I think you’ve got a good imagination.  Perhaps you should write a book, McGee.”

“Well, funny you should mention that, Boss … I have been thinking of … but never mind that now.  Boss, are you tired?”

“Excuse me?”

“We were up most of the night, weren’t we?”

“You complaining, McGee?”

“No.  Well, I’m not pleased to have been up so long but that wasn’t what I was getting at.”

“What was?” asked Gibbs, “As you pointed out, I’ve been up most of the night.”

“That was my point.  We’ve both been up since last night … in fact we were called out before we phoned Tony.  And we’re tired … but we don’t look as tired as Tony.  Just saying, I think he’s got other things going on.  Maybe like the real reason we’re here?”

Gibbs stared at McGee but then noticed that Norris had moved away from the man with the familiar face, “McGee, go and talk to Norris.  Find out how he knows DiNozzo.”

“Er, OK.  But why?”  Tim looked at Gibbs, “Because you told me to.  On it, Boss.”

A few minutes later Gibbs noticed Tony walking into the room.

“Surprised to see you,” he commented, drawing near to Tony.

“Likewise,” said Tony, “Wouldn’t have thought this was your sort of thing.”

Gibbs gave one of his expressive shrugs.

“Or are you here because you’re protecting the Secretary of the Navy?” asked Tony.

“Your words, not mine,” said Gibbs.  “I didn’t think you’d be coming.”

“The ACC got a formal invitation but decided he was busy.  He sent me instead,” said Tony.

“You being punished?” asked Gibbs.  “You know, by your _uncle by marriage_?”

“Your words, not mine,” said Tony.

The stand-off was interrupted by Tim arriving back with a plate of food.  “Hello, Tony,” he said. “You know, if we have time perhaps we could talk about your degree in natural sciences … I’d be interested to know how it’s different from what we do back home.”

“McGee, it was years ago!” said Tony.

“Hey,” said Gibbs, “The Captain’s seen you.  Wants to introduce you to the Secretary of the Navy, his name is Adam Charles, by the way.”

Tony put on his practised smile and walked with Gibbs towards the guest of honour.

“Secretary Charles,” said Dake, “I’d like you to meet Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo of …”

“DiNozzo?” said the Secretary, “How strange …”

“Sir?” said Tony calling on all his experience of dealing with VIPs.

“It’s not a common name,” said Charles.

“Er, no, Sir, it’s not,” agreed Tony.  “It’s Italian.”

“But you’re British,” said Charles.

“Well, yes, Sir.”

“Than it must just be coincidence.”

“I suppose it must,” said Tony politely.  “The Assistant Chief Constable sent his apologies.  He would have liked to be here himself but he had a meeting of …”

“Anthony!” called the Secretary over Tony’s conversation, “Come here!  There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Tony stopped talking and waited while the older man Gibbs and McGee had spotted before detached himself from a huddle of people and walked towards him.

“Anthony,” said Secretary Charles, “This is the most extraordinary thing …”

“What is, Adam?”

“This young man is called DiNozzo too,” said Charles.  “What was your name again, young man?”

“Anthony Paddington-DiNozzo,” said Tony.

“Well, that’s even more of a coincidence,” said Charles, “This is Anthony DiNozzo.”

Gibbs saw that Tony’s face lost all its colour before it all flooded back, “Good afternoon … Father,” he said quietly.

“Junior?” came the reply, “Is that really you?”

Any response from Tony was lost in a sudden sound of drums and trumpets.

“Ah,” said Captain Dake, “That must be the Royal Marines Band.  The Commander-in-Chief said they’d be along.”

There was a general surge towards the windows to get a better look at the band.  When Gibbs looked around he realised that Tony had disappeared, and his father had been swept away by Secretary Charles.  Gibbs strode towards the door where he was stopped by McGee,

“Gibbs?  Is something wrong?”

“What?”

“Tony nearly knocked me over!  I don’t think he even saw me, but he looked …”

“What, McGee?  What did he look like?”

“I don’t know – as if he’d just got really bad news!  Is he all right, Boss?”

“I don’t know, Tim,” said Gibbs.  “Did you see which way he went?”

“The opposite direction to the band,” said McGee.

“Wait here.  I’ll be back,” ordered Gibbs as he hurried in the direction indicated by McGee.

Tony hadn’t gone far.  He was leaning on the harbour wall, arms outstretched and head lowered.

“DiNozzo!” called Gibbs as he got nearer.  “You OK?”

There was a moment or two of silence and then Tony raised his head and attempted a smile.  It wasn’t a very successful attempt.

“I’m fine, Gibbs,” he managed.

“You don’t look fine,” said Gibbs bluntly.

“You got me,” admitted Tony, “But I _will_ be fine.  Just give me a minute.  That was a bit … unexpected.”

“How long is it since you saw him?” asked Gibbs.

“When I was eight years old.”

“What?”

“You heard.”

“You mean he hasn’t seen you in all these years?”

Tony raised an eyebrow in surprise at Gibbs’ vehemence, “No.  I think I told you before.  Uncle George came for a visit, didn’t think much of my father’s parenting skills and persuaded him that I’d be better off in England.”

“I remember,” said Gibbs, “But I figured that he must have come to see you sometimes – or that you’d go see him.”

“No,” said Tony.

“I c-can’t imagine … I don’t understand how … someone could just abandon their child,” said Gibbs.

Tony looked at Gibbs curiously, “I was probably an annoying child,” he suggested.

“I don’t doubt that,” responded Gibbs with a smile, “But that doesn’t excuse it.”

“Well, to be fair, he usually sent presents or cards at Christmas and around my birthday.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs only slightly appeased.

“Usually inappropriate presents,” reminisced Tony, “… a lot of teddy bears even when I was way past the age for them.  Books in subjects I had no interest in.”

“Huh,” growled Gibbs in returning annoyance.

“Though he did send a signet ring on my 21st – with a note to say that it was tradition to hand it on to the eldest son when he came of age.”

“You wear it?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  Not really my style.  Who knows, he might have tried to keep in contact … but then the war happened … and somehow it all fell apart.”

“You sure it was him?” asked Gibbs.  “How do you know if you haven’t seen him since you were eight?”

“Gibbs,” said Tony reproachfully, “I thought your observation skills were better than that.  You saw the man – you really think he’s not my father?”

“No,” said Gibbs, “No, I don’t.  What are you going to do?”

“Do?  Nothing.  I’ve managed without him most of my life, no reason to change anything.”

“You sure?” asked Gibbs.

“I’m sure,” said Tony.  “Don’t worry, I’m fine.  It was just a shock, that’s all.”  He made a better attempt at a smile.  “Really, I’m fine.  I’m always fine.”

Gibbs looked at him and thought that Tony probably thought he had a duty to _be fine_.

“Hmm,” said Tony, “Looks as if someone’s lit a fire underneath McGee,” he gestured towards Tim who was running towards them.

“What’s up, McGee?” asked Gibbs.

“Boss … Tony, they think one of the sailors didn’t make it back on board last night.”

“Gone AWOL?” asked Gibbs.

“Could be, but they say it would be out of character.  Guy’s always been a model sailor.  They’re worried he’s hurt somewhere.”

“Give me the details,” said Tony, “I’ll go check at the Royal Albert Hospital, see if he’s there.  Gibbs, you and McGee …”

“Hey, I know how to conduct an investigation,” interrupted Gibbs, irritated as he remembered Tony’s habit of ordering him around.

Tony paused as he considered whether to argue but then said, “Just remember that you don’t have any jurisdiction here.  You can investigate but that’s all.  I’ll send Ned to you as soon as he comes on duty.”

“We don’t need …” began Gibbs.

“Yes, you do,” said Tony.  “And, not telling you how to conduct an investigation, I suggest we stop wasting time and you see if the crew can help search the city.”  Without waiting for an answer, he turned away abruptly leaving the possibility of having to search the waters surrounding Plymouth unspoken for the moment.

“Is he all right?” asked McGee anxiously as he watched Tony stride off.

“He says he is,” said Gibbs.

“Boss?”

“Leave it, McGee.  For now, anyway, we’ve got this sailor to find.  What’s his name?”

“Lincoln Symonds, he’s one of the radio operators,” replied McGee.  “Petty Officer First Class.  Joined the Nevada three months ago but enlisted five years ago.  Spotless record … so far.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “Let’s go talk to Dake.  Find out who Symonds’ friends are and get a search organised.”

XXXXXX

Gibbs, McGee and Dorneget met up with Tony later that day to give him an update.

“Captain Dake has search parties going through Plymouth,” reported Gibbs.

“PC Dorneget was very helpful in suggesting areas to search,” added McGee.

“McGee and I visited the pubs that the sailors went to, but nobody remembers seeing him,” said Gibbs.

“He wasn’t at the hospital … or the mortuary,” said Tony.  “We’ve asked around the doctors as well and nobody seems to have treated him.”

“I guess he’s gone AWOL,” said McGee.

“Weird to go AWOL in a foreign port,” said Tony, “Wouldn’t it be easier to disappear back in the USA?  Unless he’s got fake papers to get out of the country.  Was anything troubling him?”

“He doesn’t seem to have many friends on the Nevada,” said Gibbs.  “Only recently assigned.  His CO spoke well of him, said he had a bright future.”

“He mentioned having an English cousin,” said Tim.  “Said he lived somewhere close by.”

“Maybe he went to see him,” suggested Gibbs.

“But why not get permission?” asked Tony.  “The Nevada’s in port for a while, isn’t it?  Would he have got leave?”

“Maybe,” said Gibbs.

“Where does this cousin live?” asked Tony.

“Princetown - sounds nice,” said McGee.  “What?” he asked as Tony and Dorneget laughed.  “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, Tim,” said Tony as he recovered, “You weren’t to know.  Dartmoor Prison is at Princetown.”

“It’s not a _nice_ place,” agreed Dorneget gravely.

“Actually … Symonds sounds familiar,” said Tony.

“Sir?” said Ned.

“Some sort of intruder in Devonport,” mused Tony, “Michael Symonds, I remember now.  Put in Dartmoor for theft.”

“We think _our_ Symonds has gone AWOL to see this cousin of his?” said Gibbs.

“It’s as good a lead as we’ve got at the moment,” said McGee, “Nothing else has shown up.”

“Agreed,” said Gibbs, “You and I will go to this prison and talk with him.  Talk to the governor, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed as he considered Gibbs’ _request_ but decided not to argue as he had been about to put the call in without being directed.  He did, however, have one proviso,

“You take Dorneget with you,” he ordered.  He could see Gibbs about to decline the _offer_ so made haste to add, “Driving on Dartmoor can be treacherous.  Ned’s used to it, you might be glad of his help.”

After a moment or two, Gibbs nodded in acquiescence.  At the nod, Tony stretched out his hand to pick up the phone but was forestalled by the entry of PC Travers,

“Excuse me, Sir,” he said, “But there’s a gentleman at the front desk asking if he can see you.”

“Yes?” said Tony absently.

“An American gentleman, Sir … another one,” he added lugubriously as if he believed that Plymouth was being overrun.

“Oh,” said Tony still only half listening.

PC Travers coughed, “Ahem, he said as his name is DiNozzo, Sir.”

That got Tony’s attention and Gibbs noticed that he seemed to go pale once more.  “Tell him I’m not available, Travers,” he ordered.

“He seemed very determined, Sir,” said Travers.

“Too bad,” said Tony curtly.  “You know how to get rid of people, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, Sir,” said Travers who seemed to cheer up at the prospect of sending the unwanted visitor away, “It will be a pleasure.”

Tony grinned at that, “Then go and have fun.  Gibbs, change of plan.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll come with you to Princetown.  Ned, phone through to the prison governor will you, and let him know we’re coming?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Ned.

Gibbs decided on a change of plan himself, “McGee, stay here.  Watch over the search for Symonds.”

“Er … Gibbs,” said Tony, “We’ll go out the back way … no point in bumping into anyone on our way.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Ned,” ordered Tony, “Get us a forecast, will you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Come on, Gibbs,” said Tony, “Don’t hang around.”

Gibbs glared at Tony half-heartedly as he remembered Tony’s _sense of humour_ from their previous visit.  He settled for grabbing his hat instead.

“You got a coat?” asked Tony.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“You might need one,” said Tony.  Gibbs saw that he had picked his much-loved duffel coat off the coat stand.

“I’ll be fine,” said Gibbs.

“Ned, get Gibbs an overcoat.”

“Yes, Sir.  I’ll bring it down to you,” replied Dorneget.

Gibbs decided not to waste time arguing although he didn’t intend to wear whatever garment the helpful police constable procured for him.

“How long will it take to get there?” asked Gibbs when they were seated in Tony’s car.

“Oh, about an hour,” said Tony.

“Then why do you want a forecast?  We’re not going to be gone long.”

“Can’t hurt,” said Tony.  “Ah, here’s Dorney.”

“Forecast is good,” said Ned.  He opened the back door of the car and tossed a police overcoat in.  Gibbs commended him, silently, for the common sense displayed in not asking Gibbs to take it.

Tony nodded and drove off; once again helpfully providing Gibbs with a running commentary about their route.  Gibbs peered at the grey lowering sky and wondered what a police forecast of _bad_ weather would be like.

When they reached the edge of Dartmoor, Tony gave an informative account of its history and geography to which Gibbs only half listened before taking advantage of a momentary pause to put in a question of his own,

“When’s your wife moving back?”

Tony glanced across at his passenger and said, “Yes, about that.  I need to tell you something …”

XXXXXX

Dartmoor Prison was a bleak building set in a bleak part of the moor.  Gibbs had never been to a _cheerful_ prison and this one stood no chance of breaking that record.

“I’ll go see the governor,” announced Tony.  “You go see Symonds.”

“You don’t want to come too?” asked Gibbs in surprise.

“You need me to hold your hand?” asked Tony.

“No!  Just seems out of character for you not to meddle,” said Gibbs.

“Huh … well, I suppose I’ve finally realised that you prefer to do things on your own,” said Tony blandly.

“’Bout time,” retorted Gibbs.

“That’s the spirit,” said Tony happily.  “I’m off to have tea with the governor.”

Gibbs was led to the visitor’s room where Michael Symonds was waiting for him.

“I’m Jethro Gibbs.  I work for the United States Navy.”

“Yes?  And why has the Navy come to see me?” asked Symonds.

“You have a cousin.”

“I have lots of cousins.”

“I’m interested in one.  Lincoln Symonds – who is a Petty Officer in the US Navy.”

“I remember.  My dad’s brother moved to America.  Got married there.  I remember him saying we got Yank cousins.”

“I figure you kept in touch more than that,” said Gibbs.

“Yeah?  How so?”

“Lincoln Symonds told people he had a cousin here.  In Princetown, he said.”

“What’s it to you?” asked Symonds.

“He’s gone missing.”  Gibbs watched Symonds closely and thought that he looked both surprised and disappointed at the news.  “We thought you might know where he is.”

“Wouldn’t know,” said Symonds, “It’s our parents who keep in touch, not us.  And I’m betting Ma hasn’t let anyone know about me being in prison – she’ll have told Pa just to say that I’m living in Princetown.”

“So, your parents are close with your uncle and aunt?”

“As close as you can be by post,” replied Symonds.

“Did they share stories about you and Lincoln?”

“They might have done,” admitted Symonds.

“They might have told stories about what you got up to in Plymouth?” suggested Gibbs.

“So?”

“Childhood haunts.  Hiding places,” said Gibbs.

“I suppose so.  Why?”

“How would you like to get out of here?”

“Well,” Symonds leaned forward confidentially, “I did get sent a file in a birthday cake.  I was working on the bars of my cell when I got called to come and see you.”

Gibbs laughed, “Oh, we can make it easier than that.  You can come out with me.  Show us places in Plymouth that your cousin might have heard about.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Chance for a ride.  Chance to get out of here for an hour or so.  And I hear you’re here on remand … I could put a good word in for you at the trial.”

“OK,” said Symonds cautiously.  “And it would make Ma happy.  You know, her little boy doing a good deed for the family.”

“Yeah,” said Gibbs sardonically, “I’m sure you’re the apple of her eye.”

Symonds smiled appreciatively, and the smile stayed on his face until he saw Tony waiting in the car for Gibbs.

“Mr Paddington-DiNozzo!  An unexpected pleasure,” he managed.

“Symonds,” acknowledged Tony.  “Get in.  Gibbs, you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s our best chance of finding our petty officer.  I said I’d put in a good word for our friend here.”

Having made sure that the rear doors were locked, Gibbs got in beside Tony and they drove off.  Gibbs wasn’t sure if Tony had run out of informative things to say or had decided that their passenger didn’t deserve a running commentary but, for whatever reason, silence prevailed.

“Don’t think much of your forecast,” muttered Gibbs as rain began to fall and visibility diminished.

“You’ll have to hope we don’t break down, Mr Gibbs,” said Symonds from the back.  “The moor is a dangerous place.  Especially if you wander from the road.  There are bogs that can swallow a man – if you fall into one, your body might never be found.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Saves paying for a funeral.”

Tony laughed.  “Never thought of you as a glass half-full sort of person, Gibbs!”

“It’s an odd place, Dartmoor,” said Symonds, “There are all sorts of stories you know, Mr Gibbs.  Odd lights, noises … rumblings.  Some people say it’s haunted – by ghosts of prisoners who tried to escape but died trying.”

“Quiet, Symonds,” ordered Tony.

After a couple of miles, the land began to dip down as they descended, and they became aware of mist waiting for them.  Gibbs noticed that Tony’s hands clenched a little tighter on the steering wheel and a few minutes later the car engine began to splutter.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gibbs.

“Don’t know,” said Tony.  “She was due to go into the garage tomorrow.  She’s been playing up a bit.”

“And you decided to drive out here?” demanded Gibbs crossly.

“She’ll be fine,” said Tony.  “But the mist and the rain aren’t helping,” there was another loud splutter and the car jerked.  “We’ll stop for a few minutes,” decided Tony.  “There’s a ruined cottage up ahead.  We can shelter there while she cools down … or warms up … whatever she needs.”

Gibbs muttered under his breath about British lack of preparedness but didn’t object out loud.  Tony had been right about the ruined cottage although it provided little shelter for them.

“We can light a fire,” said Tony optimistically.

“With what?” asked Gibbs crossly.

“Bracken,” said Tony, “Gorse, heather … other green stuff.  I’ll go get some.  You look after our guest here.”

Gibbs nodded assent and wrapped the police overcoat around him a little closer.  He glared at the handcuffed Symonds and dared him to move from his seat by the stone fireplace.  Symonds gazed back serenely but had a watchful look in his eye.

A few minutes later, Gibbs heard a noise from outside and stood up in alarm.

“Don’t worry, Mr Gibbs,” said Symonds reassuringly, “Like I said before, the moor is full of odd noises.  And there are ponies wandering around too.”

Gibbs peered out of the window but couldn’t see anything through the mist and rain.  He sat down again but then there was another loud noise and a shout.

“DiNozzo!” he called out.

“Here!” came an unfamiliar voice and then Gibbs saw two men manhandle Tony into the cottage and throw him to the ground before drawing pistols from their pockets.

“Took you long enough,” said Symonds crossly as he rose to his feet.

“Sorry, Mickey,” said the larger of the two men.  “We had to follow from a distance.  Didn’t want to risk being seen.”

“Friends of yours?” asked Gibbs sarcastically.

“Well, not friends,” said Symonds, “I try not to be _friends_ with employees.  Meet Ted and Larry, my _helpers._ ”

“We didn’t expect you to be moved today,” said the other man.  “But we was watching, like you said to.”

“And we have an added bonus,” said Symonds, walking up to Tony and kicking him in the ribs.

“Mickey?”

“Ted, this is Detective Chief Inspector Paddington-DiNozzo,” said Symonds, delivering another kick.

“The cop who put you away?”

“Yes, Larry.  The source of all my problems.  Delivered into our hands – after all our trouble.  We owe a vote of thanks to our American friend here,” Symonds nodded towards Gibbs.  “Although I’m not sure he’s going to be grateful for our _gratitude.”_

“What’s going on?” asked Gibbs.

“The DCI has been _very_ persistent,” said Symonds mournfully, “He was obsessed with the idea that I’d been up to more than simple petty theft from the Navy Base.”

“And I was right,” gasped Tony.

Symonds didn’t kick Tony this time but signalled to Larry to do it instead.

“Where does your cousin fit in?” demanded Gibbs.

Symonds shrugged, “Who knows?”

“You expect us to believe that?” hissed Gibbs.

“You know, I don’t really care what you believe.  And it’s not as if you’re going to have long to worry about it, Mr Gibbs,” said Symonds.

“Gibbs,” said Tony, “ _Mickey_ here has been running drugs into Plymouth.  Made the mistake of trying to sell some to sailors – that’s when we found out.  Couldn’t prove anything though. Ouch!” he exclaimed as another boot hit his ribs.  “Until I saw him unloading his supplies.  Got a clear look but he ran off before we could catch him.  But my evidence would put him away for longer than just for petty theft.”

“Well,” said Symonds, “It’s good to catch up but I’m guessing that you’re expected back in Plymouth soon.  So, we need to get on with things.  Get him up,” he ordered Larry.  “And get the key to these cuffs – they’re in Mr Gibbs’ pocket.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, you remember I told you about those bogs?  And how you said losing a body in them would save the cost of a funeral?  Turns out that you’re a prophet!”

Gibbs handed the key to the handcuffs when Ted held out his hand.  “Very sensible, Mr Gibbs,” praised Symonds, “No point in struggling.  Now, move it!”

Tony and Gibbs were marched outside by their captors.

“There’s one of those bogs about a hundred yards behind that hedge,” said Ted pointing ahead of them.

“Good.  Walk them over there and shoot them.  We’ll let the moor take them,” said Symonds.

At that moment, light flooded from the edge of the cottage’s garden, revealing twenty policeman,

“Put your guns down,” came the voice of ACC Paget.  “It’s over now.”

“Boss?  You OK?” asked McGee emerging from the crowd.

Gibbs took his gun out of his pocket and noticed with amusement that Tony had done the same,

“You’re armed?” they said to one another in unison.

“PD,” said Paget sternly, “I can’t see too clearly in this light so I’m assuming that you haven’t got your service weapon in your hand?”

“No, Sir,” said Tony meekly as he returned the pistol to his pocket, “Of course not.”

XXXXXX

“Thanks for going along with it,” said Tony some time later as he sat in the police station’s first aid room having his ribs bandaged.

“Glad to be of help,” said Gibbs laconically.

“So, I was right!” said Tim.

“What?” asked Tony.

“I said to Gibbs that I thought you were working on some big case,” explained Tim, “And that was why you looked so tired.”

“Huh,” said Tony.  “I suppose so.  Mickey Symonds has been a petty thief around this area for a long time, but I always wondered if there was more to it than that.  Even that it was a cover for something much nastier.  And then I nearly caught him red-handed unloading drugs … and well, I could be the witness for the drug dealing but we didn’t really have enough evidence to nail him.”

“Then why all that today?” asked Tim.

“Ah,” said Tony, “We thought we’d caught him and at least we’d closed him down but then … well, my car nearly crashed.  The brakes had been tampered with.  And there were a couple of other near misses.”

“And you thought that you’d stumbled across something bigger?   That Symonds wasn’t working on his own?” said Gibbs.

“Yes.  So, we decided to charge Symonds just with theft and breaking and entering.  Make him think we hadn’t clocked on to the drugs although we were still working on it and we might have got more evidence.  But this way, we’d see what happened.  We suspected that he had a way of communicating with people outside – the attacks on me proved that. We’d originally thought of making it easy for him to escape on his way to trial but this thing with his cousin gave us another way of doing it,” said Tony.

“You could have let me have a bit more notice,” said Gibbs, “Telling me just as we got on to the moor was leaving it a bit late.”

Tony grinned at Gibbs, noticing that he looked more alive than he had since arriving in Plymouth.  “I trusted you,” he said.  “And I wanted to tell you without anyone overhearing – I don’t want to think that anyone at the station is in on it but no point in taking any risks.”

“And the _forecast_?” asked Gibbs.

“Making sure that the ACC was on board and ready to put the plan into force,” said Tony.  “Trying to escape like that gives us something else to charge Symonds with.  If it had just been another charge of breaking and entering he wouldn’t have tried to escape … and we’ve got two more of his associates behind bars – and who knows what they’ll be willing to tell us?   Somehow, I think Ted and Larry will be more co-operative than Mickey.   And now Mickey’s lifeline has gone, who knows – he may start singing too!”

“You didn’t tell me that Mickey hated you,” said Gibbs.

“Eh?”

“I thought he might tie us up … didn’t expect him to decide to kill us,” said Gibbs.

“No,” said Tony, finally solemn.  “No, that was a surprise.  Honestly, I wouldn’t have dragged you into it if I’d thought that was going to happen.  I think there might be something wrong with him …”

“You think?” said Gibbs sarcastically.

“Yes,” said Tony with mock gravity, “I mean, usually everyone likes me!  I’m a popular sort of person.”

“Except among hardened criminals,” said Gibbs.

“You have a point,” said Tony meekly.

“McGee!” said Gibbs.

“Boss?”

“Any word on our missing petty officer?”

“No, nothing.  Do you think he’s involved with Michael Symonds?”

“Don’t know,” said Gibbs thoughtfully.  “I’d say that the two cousins haven’t been in touch …”

“But?” asked Tony.

“But there was something,” said Gibbs.  “Don’t know what, but I think Mickey had been up to something.  We need to find _our_ Symonds.”

“On it, Boss,” said McGee.  “Ned and I will go check to see how the search is going.  Er … Boss …” he gestured towards the door.

Gibbs nodded and followed him out leaving Tony carefully putting his shirt back on.

“What is it?” asked Gibbs as he closed the door behind him.

“This afternoon … I saw Christopher Norris talking to Mr DiNozzo … Mr DiNozzo Senior,” said McGee.

“So?”

“I phoned through to the American Embassy in London.  Asked about Mr DiNozzo … Tony’s father.”

“And?”

“He seems to be some sort of businessman.  Calls himself an entrepreneur.  A dealmaker.   The Embassy don’t quite know what to make of him.  He’s got interests in shipping and communications in particular.”

“Didn’t you say that Norris had interests in a shipping company too?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  And our missing petty officer is a radio officer,” said McGee.

“And you think there’s something secret going on with the Royal Navy about wireless?”

“Yes.  Do you think it’s just a coincidence?”

“You know what I don’t believe in, Tim?”

“Lots of things, Boss.  But coincidence is at the top of the list.”

“That’s right.  Keep an eye on them, Tim.  But quietly.  Don’t want to scare anyone off.”

“Yes, Boss.  What are you going to do?”

“DiNozzo looks ready to drop.  I’ll take him back to his place.  There’s still stuff I need to ask him.”

XXXXXX

“You didn’t need to bring me back,” said Tony as he and Gibbs walked into Tony’s house.

“You don’t want to drive with bruised ribs,” said Gibbs.  “And I’ve had a frightening experience.  I need to recover,” he added with a straight face.

“Ouch,” said Tony, “Don’t make me laugh!  It hurts.”

“Nothing else to do today,” said Gibbs.  “McGee and Dorneget will let us know if anything shows up.”

“But you don’t expect it to, do you?” said Tony shrewdly.

“No,” said Gibbs, “I think our petty officer has gone to ground.  I just don’t know why.”

“But you think Mickey Symonds is involved?”

“Don’t know.  I don’t get the feeling that Lincoln is tied up with drugs – nothing in his record to suggest that.”

Tony sighed, “We’ll think again tomorrow if he doesn’t show up.”

“So,” said Gibbs, “Why did you decide to act so quickly today?”

“Pardon?”

“You put the plan into operation very quickly.  You could have decided that Symonds ‘needed’ to be brought into Plymouth for some other reason.  Why today?”

“It was a good scenario,” said Tony.

Gibbs raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“Well, it was,” defended Tony.

The eyebrow remained raised.

“And he might have known something about your sailor.”

“True.”

“But you’re right.  It seemed more urgent,” said Tony.

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

“You told me that your wife moved out because you were worried she was in danger …”

“Yes …”

“And _you_ were being careful so I’m guessing that you didn’t think you were at any more risk.”

“Right.  And with you around, I felt even safer.”

“That why you didn’t put up too much of a fight about me staying here?”

It was Tony’s turn to shrug.

“So why today?”

“Something else has changed.  Something unexpected.”

“What?”

“My father showed up.”

“You thought he might become a target?  A way of getting at you?”

“Could be,” said Tony.

“Thought you didn’t care about him,” said Gibbs.

“I don’t,” said Tony, “But …”

“He’s your father.”

“And he didn’t deserve to get hurt just because he’s my father and showed up at the wrong time.”

“I guess,” said Gibbs.  “So, what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“About your father?”

“Nothing, if I can help it.”

“Can’t avoid him for ever,” said Gibbs.

“I can give it a good go,” said Tony.  “I mean, what do you say to a man you haven’t seen for nearly 30 years?”

“Don’t know,” admitted Gibbs, “But he’s not just any man.  He’s your father.”

“I’m too beat to think of it tonight,” said Tony.  “Tomorrow will do.”

“And Lucy,” said Gibbs, “Your wife … will she come back now?”

“I’ll think about that tomorrow as well,” sighed Tony.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Had a thought,” said Gibbs the next day when he and McGee were meeting with Tony in his office.

“Good to know,” said Tony.  “Go on.  Spill.”

“Mickey Symonds – has he got family in Plymouth?”

“Don’t know,” said Tony.  “But I know a man who will,” he picked up the phone on his desk and called down to the reception.  “Travers, come up here, will you?  So, why do you want to know?” he asked Gibbs after putting the receiver down.

“Wondered if our missing petty officer might have gone to see them.  Seems he knew something about Mickey – suggests he’s in touch with them.”

“Good thought,” said Tony.  “Ah, PC Travers, come in.  We need to pick your brains.”

“Very good, Sir,” said Travers.

“Mickey Symonds …”

“Bad lot, Sir,” pronounced Travers.  “Right from being a lad.  And that’s strange.”

“Why?” asked Tony.

“His parents were honest as the day is long.  Never any trouble.  Young Mickey was like a cuckoo in the nest, you might say.”

“Hmm.  They still around?”

Travers thought for a moment or two, “No, Sir.  They moved to London a few years back.  They told folk it was on account of them getting better work there …”

“But you don’t believe that?” said Tony.

“No, Sir.  Like I said, they was honest and Mickey was as crooked as a five-penny tanner …”

Tony saw blank expressions on Tim and Gibbs’ faces, “A tanner is a sixpenny piece.”

“I reckons as they moved away because they was ashamed of their son … and frightened of him too,” continued Travers.

“Any of the family still here?” asked Gibbs.

“No that I knows of, Sir, no.  There was a brother who moved to America but that was a long time ago.”

“Do you know where they used to live?” asked McGee.

“Moved around, Sir,” said Travers.  “I could give it some thought but they didn’t never stay long anywhere.  Landlords used to ask them to leave when Mickey got up to his tricks.”

“All right.  Thank you, Travers,” said Tony.  “See if you can rustle up some addresses.  McGee and Gibbs will collect them on their way out.”  He looked pointedly at his visitors in an obvious wish for them to go.

“Come on, McGee,” said Gibbs, “We’re not welcome here!”

Tony grinned half-heartedly but didn’t argue.

“I expect your ribs are still hurting, aren’t they?” asked Tim solicitously trying to find an excuse for Tony’s grumpiness.

Tony’s grin was a little wider this time, “I’ve had worse after a game of rugby, Tim!  I’m fine, no need to worry.  I’ve just got a lot of work to do.”

XXXXXX

“Actually, Boss,” said Tim a few minutes later as they walked out of the police station armed with a list of addresses from PC Travers, “There’s something I need to … let you know about.”

“You’re applying for a job here?” suggested Gibbs.

“No, Boss!  Why would you think that?”

“Would save you having to go back home by boat,” said Gibbs.

“No, Boss,” said Tim as he realised that Gibbs was making his annual attempt at humour.  “No, it’s something else.”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.

“Well, it might be nothing,” said Tim.  “But if it is, then it might be important … but …”

“Hey,” said Gibbs sensing the conversation might be a long one, “There’s that cafe we’ve used before.  Let’s stop there.”

Tim and Gibbs were soon sitting with drinks in front of them.  It hadn’t taken long for the Devonshire proprietor to learn that Gibbs was always in more of a hurry than his usual placid clientele.

Gibbs took a fortifying mouthful of coffee and prepared himself for McGee to unburden himself.

“Mrs Damerell – you know, my landlady.  She has a son in the Merchant Navy.”

Gibbs nodded.

“He’s not there at the moment.  He’s working in the South China Sea.  But that’s not important,” said McGee hastily.  “Anyway, he’s a wireless operator; that’s his job.  And Mrs Damerell says Sam – that’s his name – is a good one.  And I think she’s probably right.”

“Why?  Why do you think that?”

“He’s got his own set up in a shed at the bottom of the garden.  And it’s a good one.”

“How do you know it’s a good one?”

“Mrs Damerell showed it to me.  We were talking you see, and she said what Sam, her son, does and I said that was interesting.”

“And was it?”

“Oh, yes, Boss.  I’m interested in wireless and radio.  And I told her, Mrs Damerell that is.  And she showed me his set up.  And she said she was sure he wouldn’t mind if I took a closer look at it and used it if I wanted to.”

“And you did?”

“Yes, Boss.  I brought some kit with me.  I was trying to make a transmitter on the voyage.  The radio operator was helping me but …”

“But you didn’t get far because of the seasickness,” said Gibbs.

“That’s right.  And I thought it would help to look at an up and running set.  But there was something odd.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure,” admitted McGee, “But I picked up some odd signals.  Not like anything I’ve come across before.”

“So?”

“Well, you know I said about the sailors letting slip about some top-secret work being done on the Nevada?”

“Yes.”

“And that there’s some secret stuff being done on the Navy Base?”

“Yes.”

“And you and I both know we’re not really here to try out the floating agent idea …”

“McGee!” said Gibbs in exasperation as Tim once more suggested they were in the UK for a secret reason.

“OK, Boss, I get you’re not going to tell me,” said McGee.  “But I wondered if these odd signals might be something to do with the secret work.  But I can’t tell …”

“Can’t tell what?”

“If it’s the British or American secret work.  Or …”

“Or?”

“Or if it’s someone trying to spy on it,” finished McGee.

“Like Lincoln Symonds?”

“He’s a radio operator – and a good one according to Captain Dake,” said McGee.

“What do you want to do?” asked Gibbs.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you think we should do?  I’m no expert on this stuff, seems that you are so I’m asking your opinion.”

“I’m not an expert, Boss.  I’m just interested,” said McGee,

“You told me for a reason, McGee,” said Gibbs, “You must have something in mind.”

“I can’t tell if what I’m picking up is an original signal or someone trying to interfere or tap into it.  But I think that it’s coming from a few miles to the south-west.  Possibly just offshore.  I think we should go take a look, see if we can find anything.”

“Sounds good,” said Gibbs.  “Anything else?”

“I think we should tell Tony.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs, “Why?”

“If we find something … and find that it’s just the British doing some testing … it might be better if we had someone British with us.  To show that we’re not spying on them.”

“And what if it turns out to be us doing the testing?” asked Gibbs.  “We’ll have taken a foreigner with us.”

“But Tony’s half-American,” said McGee. 

“I don’t think he’s that fond of his American side,” said Gibbs.

“I don’t think he’d understand what we found,” said Tim.  “I mean, not because he’s not clever enough but because it’s not what he’s interested in.  And we wouldn’t have to take him too close either.”

“OK,” said Gibbs.  “And if it’s some third party, spying either on the British or the US Navy … it would be useful to have someone with authority to make an arrest.  But the fewer people who know the better, we don’t want to tip someone off that we suspect something’s going on.”

“Yes, Boss,” said McGee.

“We’ll go to these addresses that Travers gave us,” decided Gibbs.  “Tonight, you try and pinpoint the signal again and tomorrow we’ll suggest that DiNozzo go on an outing with us.”

“Er, Boss, you do know that I might be wrong?  That this might be a red herring?” asked McGee anxiously.

“Don’t worry, McGee,” said Gibbs.  He looked out to sea and then considered the sky, “Tomorrow looks like being a nice day.  DiNozzo looks pale, a trip will do him good.”

XXXXXX

“Pardon?” said Tony the next day.  McGee and Gibbs had reported back that the addresses provided by PC Travers had not produced any clues to Lincoln Symonds’ whereabouts.  Gibbs had then gone on to suggest a trip out, “You think a trip _will do me good_?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs affably.  “Get some colour in your cheeks.  You spend too much time indoors.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief, “I’m fine.”

Gibbs shook his head sorrowfully, “It’s important to take time for yourself, you know.”

“Gibbs,” said Tony, “I think it’s you who needs the help, not me.”

“Fine,” said Gibbs briskly, “We think – or rather, McGee thinks – that we’ve come across something that might be connected to Lincoln Symonds’ disappearance.”

“Go on,” said Tony.

“But we’re not sure.  And it could be something sensitive and we don’t want to cause an international incident by mistake.”

“But it would be all right to cause one deliberately,” said Tony.

“Of course not,” snapped Gibbs.

“I didn’t think tact was your strongpoint,” said Tony.

“It is when it matters,” said Gibbs.  “I know there are times when it’s a good idea to go slowly … and I think this is one of them.”

“And you think this is important?” asked Tony.

“Yes.”

“And it needs to be me going _on this trip_ with you?”

“Yes.”

“Even though I’m busy?”

“Yes.”

“And there might be trouble?”

“Yes.  I hope not, but we should be prepared.”

“Why not go with more people?”

“Need to go in quietly,” said Gibbs, “We can be ready to back off if we need to.  Easier to manage a small number.”

“I don’t know, Gibbs,” said Tony, “It all seems … unlikely.”

“You said we shouldn’t do anything on our own,” chipped in McGee.

“Dorneget is good,” said Gibbs, “But we’ve all worked together before – I’d prefer we keep it to the three of us.”

“Well …” said Tony, clearing still considering what to say.  At that moment there was a knock at the door and PC Travers came in,

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Sir but I wanted to let you know that Mr DiNozzo enquired after your whereabouts again this afternoon.  I told him as you was not available.  As per your instructions. That Mr Norris was with him as well.”

“Thank you, Travers,” said Tony and he nodded in dismissal.

“And I thought as you would want to know, Sir, that he said that he intended to call again tomorrow morning and would be insisting that he see you.  I am, of course, happy to continue to turn him away but I’m thinking he might begin to be _loud_ , Sir if you follow my meaning.”

“Yes, Travers, I understand.”

“And he was also a saying that he has _connections_ – something about the Navy’s Secretary or some such.”

“ _Secretary of the Navy_ ,” said Tony wearily.  “All right, Travers.  When he comes tomorrow, tell him I’m away for the day but make him an appointment for Monday.  Just half an hour, understand?”

“Yes, Sir, of course Sir.  And should I say where you are in case he should enquire?”

“Tell him I’ve gone on a trip,” said Tony.

“And a good thing too, if you don’t mind me saying so, Sir.  You’ve been looking a little peaky.  You need to spend more time outdoors.”

With that, he made a majestic exit leaving Tony feeling he’d been ganged up on.

“Happy?” he asked.

“ _Happy_ might be too strong a word,” said Gibbs cautiously.

“Where are we going on this _trip_ then?” asked Tony.

“McGee!” said Gibbs, “Where should we be heading for?”

McGee produced one of his maps and pointed to a spot to the west of Plymouth Sound.  “There are some old forts along there,” he said, “Mostly disused or abandoned now.  I think we need to look there.”

“Look for what?” asked Tony.

“We’ll know when we find it,” said Gibbs.

“And it might be Lincoln Symonds?” said Tony.

“Could be,” agreed Gibbs.  “Would be neat if it was.”

“Then it’s unlikely,” said Tony gloomily, “Since when did things turn out neatly for us?”

Gibbs grinned and then looked at the map again, “So, what’s the best way to get there?”

Tony grinned in his turn.  Tim had a sense of misgiving when he saw the smile: it wasn’t entirely trustworthy. 

“Gibbs, do you sail?”

“Sometimes,” said Gibbs.

“He’s building a sail boat,” said Tim.

“Really?” said Tony.

“In his basement,” said Tim.

Tony looked puzzled, “Huh!  I thought I knew most of the ways that American English is different to British English but that one passed me by.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Well, in this country, a basement is an underground room, but I guess it means something different in the US.  What is it, a sort of garage?”

“No,” said Tim, “A basement in America is the same as one here.”

“You’re building a boat in a _basement_?” asked Tony.

Gibbs shrugged; he was used to the bewilderment.

“But why?” asked Tony.

“He’s Gibbs,” said Tim simply.

Oddly, this answer satisfied Tony.  “OK.  I suggest that we sail out there.”

“Sail?” asked McGee sadly.

“Yes,” said Tony firmly, “It will tie in with the idea that we’re taking a day off.  Sailing is a great way of seeing the coast.  And it will be easier to access the forts from the sea than wading out from land.”

“You ever sailed, McGee?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes,” said McGee, still more sadly.

“It’ll be fine,” said Tony.  “Who knows, it might be fun!”

“I guess,” said Tim gloomily.

“I’ll show you the lighthouse on the breakwater,” said Tony cheerfully.  “And there’s a fort there too.”

“You sail?” asked Gibbs a little sceptically.

“Learned at school,” said Tony.  “But,” he paused to touch his ribs, “You might have to do the hard work!  I’ll give you directions.”

“Sounds about right,” said Gibbs.

XXXXXX

Gibbs sent McGee back to the guest house to try out the missing Sam’s radio equipment and to brace himself for the ordeal ahead.  He waited until Tony was ready to leave and went with him as he once again went out the back way to his car.

“You can’t avoid him for ever,” he commented as Tony drove off.

“Why not?  I think there’s a limit to how long a foreigner can stay in this country.  He’ll have to go back eventually,” said Tony.

“But you’ll see him on Monday,” pointed out Gibbs.

“If I’m spared,” said Tony with mock piety.

“You’ll be fine.  I’ll have your six,” promised Gibbs.

Tony looked at him curiously, “You say that as if it’s a good thing.”

“It is,” said Gibbs reassuringly, “It means I’ll watch over you.”

“Oh,” said Tony, “I suppose that’s good.”

“So, you’ll be around to see your father.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” asked Tony.

“Not really,” said Gibbs modestly.

“It’s just … difficult,” said Tony.

“He’s never tried to contact you before?”

“Well, I told you about the cards and presents,” said Tony.

“And the signet ring,” said Gibbs.

“You’re like an elephant,” complained Tony, “You never forget.”

“It’s a gift,” said Gibbs.

“The signet ring was almost the last thing,” said Tony.

“Almost?”

“Until a few months ago … and then letters began arriving.  Asking how I was … wanting to meet up.”

“And what did you do?”

“Nothing.  I ignored them,” said Tony.

“Why do you think he reached out?”

“Who knows?  He mentioned Lucy, seemed to know I’d got married.  Said he’d like to meet her.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“Gibbs, I don’t know what to think.  He might not have been a good father, but I loved him.  Cried for days when Uncle George took me away.  I’m surprised he and Aunt Lottie didn’t ship me back to him.”

“But they didn’t?”

“No, they didn’t.  And gradually I realised that they loved me.  And I think I learned something about love from them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, they loved me even when I was being a pain; they kept me even when they didn’t have to, and nobody would have thought the worse of them if they hadn’t.  And I learned that caring isn’t always about what’s convenient – it’s about what’s best for the person you love.  And looking back, I don’t think that’s a lesson my father ever learned.”

“So, you don’t want to see him again?”

“It feels as if it would be disloyal.  Does that make sense?”

“I think so.”

“My Aunt and Uncle took me in, treated me like their son.  I told you about Andrew, didn’t I?  My cousin who didn’t come back from the War.  If I engage with my father, it feels as if I’d be throwing all that back in their face.”

“Maybe,” said Gibbs.  “Have you spoken to your Aunt about it?”

“No,” said Tony, “It’s something I have to work out for myself.”

“You know,” said Gibbs hesitantly, “I’ve learned that sometimes you can ask for help.”

“Not with this,” said Tony firmly.  He was silent for a moment or two before saying with determined cheerfulness, “How do you think McGee will cope with sailing tomorrow?  The wind is getting up, you know.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Tony lent Gibbs his car early next morning so that he could go and collect Tim from the guest house while he got things ready for their _trip_.

“Boss?” said McGee in surprise, “Where’s Tony?”

“Decided it would be easier to leave from his place.  Turns out he’s got a boat,” replied Gibbs.

“Of course he has,” said McGee with uncharacteristic bitterness.

Gibbs simply laughed and gave him a slap on the shoulder which McGee assumed was meant to be encouraging.  McGee was naturally an optimistic person so began to look forward to seeing where Tony lived in Saltash,

“What’s Tony’s place like?” he asked eagerly.

Gibbs gave his customary brief answer, “Bit of a disaster area.”

“Oh,” said McGee.  He tried to think of something cheerful to say but could only come up with, “Oh.”

McGee spent the rest of the ride wondering why Tony’s living arrangements were so chaotic and hoping he hadn’t fallen on hard times.  “Oh,” he said again when Gibbs pulled up in front of a row of three whitewashed cottages facing the Tamar River.  One looked to be in reasonable repair while the others appeared to be derelict.  Tony was standing in the front garden of one and Tim asked in an urgent undertone, “Please tell me that Tony’s is the one with windows and a door.”

Tony heard him however and said, in a slightly cool voice, “They’re all mine … ours.  They’re being converted into one house.  I-it’s just taking longer than expected.”

“Yes,” agreed Tim, “Yes.  It does that sometimes,” he searched around for something else to say and settled for, “It’s in a lovely spot.  Right by the water … um …”

Tony took pity on him, “Thank you.  And it means I can keep a boat close by.  Come on.”

Tony led the way to a small dinghy which was tied up at the end of a nearby jetty.

“ _Netley Belle_ ,” observed Gibbs.

Tony smiled, “Yes, named after Grandfather’s place in Oxfordshire.”

McGee had noticed the name but been distracted (and relieved) by the sight of an outboard motor attached to the boat.

“Here,” said Tony throwing something to Tim, “Put this on.”

“What is it?” asked Tim, “A life jacket?”

“Oh,” said Tony, “Didn’t think of that.  No, it’s a jumper – it can be cold on the water.”

“Thanks,” said Tim suddenly wishing that his capacious knapsack contained a life vest and noticing for the first time that Gibbs was wearing a similar sweater over his shirt and tie.  Tony had indeed been making preparations.

“Where we going?” asked Gibbs.  “McGee!”

“Huh!  Oh, well, I think we should try … er … Picklecombe Fort first.”

“Why there, Tim?” asked Tony.

“I’m not sure,” confessed Tim, “But I think the signals were coming from near there.”

“You think we should start somewhere else?” Gibbs asked Tony.

“No, Picklecombe is OK.  We’ll head south.  Won’t go too quickly, don’t want to make it look as if that’s where we’re heading.”

“Why not?” asked Gibbs.

“It’s abandoned, Gibbs.  There were guns there until the 1920s but they’re gone now.  There wouldn’t normally be any reason for anyone to go there.  We want it to look as if we’re just casually sailing down the coast.”

“Why so many of these forts?” asked McGee.

“Well,” said Tony getting the informative glint in his eye which Gibbs had learned to distrust, “They’re called Palmerston Follies.”

If Gibbs had been on his own, a dampening silence might have quelled Tony but, unfortunately for Gibbs, Tim wanted to know more.

“Why?” he asked.

“Palmerstone was Prime Minister in the last century.  He wanted additional coastal defences set up.”

“Why follies?” Gibbs found himself asking.

“They were never used,” said Tony and people thought they were a waste of time.  And money.”

“Who was he trying to defend the country from?” asked McGee.

“The French,” said Tony, “Britain’s been fighting the French for centuries.  Seems odd not to be doing that now.  Times have changed.”  He took a deep breath, but Gibbs cut in before he could continue the history lesson,

“We sailing or using the motor?”

“We’ll motor until we get into the Sound and then sail,” said Tony.  “It’ll be quicker to motor but once we’re within sight of the forts it’ll be better if it looks more as if we’re just out for a day’s fun.  Don’t worry, Tim – the forecast has changed, should be calm today.  And the fresh air makes a difference.  You’ll be fine.”

Tim nodded gratefully at these encouraging words.

“You better be,” said Gibbs sternly.

“Do you sail a lot?” Tim asked Tony.

“Not as much as I did.  But it seems daft not to have a boat when you live on a river and so close to the sea.”

Tim nodded and noticed that the strained look which had been on Tony’s face since they arrived in Plymouth had faded once the boat had started moving.  Tim also noticed that Gibbs’ face had the slightly smug look of a cat who had got the cream … or of a Gibbs whose plan was working.  He shook his head, deciding that tracking potential spies was the task at hand rather than delving into the depths of Gibbs’ mind.

It wasn’t long before it was time to hoist the dinghy’s sails and McGee and Gibbs were kept periodically busy when Tony directed them to move.  Tim found that he was actually enjoying himself and wondered if his bad memories of previousl sailing trips were more to do with fear of disappointing his father than of seasickness.

“This is beautiful,” he said during a moment of calm as he looked back at Plymouth and then across to the wooded shore.

Tony sighed, “Yes.  It is,” he agreed.  “We’re lucky to be here.”

Tim squinted at Tony trying to identify the meaning behind the words and the sigh.  Before he could come to any conclusion he and Gibbs were being told to move once more and the moment was lost.

“There’s the breakwater!” Tony said pointing to a long structure stretching across the Sound.

“’Nother folly?” asked Gibbs as he saw another round Fort nearby.

“Not really.  The breakwater’s useful.  Provides shelter.  There’s even a cage on it.”

“A cage?” asked Tim thinking he’d misheard.

“Yes.  At the end.  By the beacon.  It was designed for sailors to take refuge in,” explained Tony.

Neither Gibbs nor Tim responded – indeed they weren’t quite sure what the correct response would be.

Sometime later, Tony announced that they were coming up to Picklecombe Fort.

“It’s attached to the land!” exclaimed Tim.

“What?” asked Tony.

“You said it would be easier to sail here because it would mean we wouldn’t have to wade through water to get to the forts,” said Tim, “But we could have come by road.”

“Oh well,” said Tony, “I thought you’d enjoyed yourself,” he added a little sadly.

“Well, I did,” admitted the ever-honest Tim, “But …”

“But nothing,” said Gibbs, “I reckon this was just as quick,” he looked ahead at the fort, “Looks to be a landing spot there,” he pointed.

“We’ll go around,” decided Tony, “See if we can see any other boats moored.  And there’s a landing place on the other side, not so obvious.”

“You know this place then?” asked Tim.

“I’ve been to most of the forts – well, the abandoned ones, anyway.  Tramps sometimes set up home on them – we leave them be for a while but in the end, we have to move them on.”

Gibbs soon saw that Tony had been right to suggest they go around to the south of the fort where huge boulders hid their approach.  Gibbs and McGee lowered the sails and then each took an oar, so they could come in as quietly as possible.  They clambered over the rocks and approached the old fort.

The three went cautiously and quietly but they were surprised when they got to the now empty gun placements … which weren’t empty.

“McGee,” said Gibbs, “That’s a radio, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Boss.  Or rather, it’s part of a radio.  Looks as if the transmitter has been removed.”

“Recently?” asked Tony sharply.

“I’d say so,” said Tim.

“DiNozzo!  Come here!” called Gibbs.

Tony went and stood next to Gibbs and looked where he was pointing, “What do you think that is?” asked Gibbs.

“What do _you_ think it is?” replied Tony.

“I’d say some heavy weapon has stood here – machine gun possibly.  And,” Gibbs pointed to some other indentations in the ground, “And infantry mortar there.”

“Recently?” asked Tony once more.

“Yes,” said Gibbs.

“Why would they need that sort of firepower if they’re spying?” asked Tim.

“I don’t think it’s spying or stealing information,” said Tony anxiously.  “This is something else.”

“What?” demanded Gibbs.

“Look at where we are,” said Tony.  He waved a hand to indicate their location.  “The forts have never been used in anger but they’re in perfect strategic positions.”

“So?”

“So … wait, get down!  Both of you!”

Gibbs and Tim both had quick reactions and were on the ground almost before the words were out of Tony’s mouth.

“What?” hissed Gibbs.

“A boat has just pulled into the normal landing place.  Three men, carrying something heavy,” replied Tony.

“Did they see us?” asked Tim.

“I don’t think so.  But the way they’re walking up, I think they’ll see the _Belle_.”

“You bring that gun with you, DiNozzo?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes.  You bring yours, Gibbs?”

“Sure.  Not sure how much good they’ll be against those three.  I have a feeling they’ve got more firepower than that Webley of yours or my Colt M1911.”

Tony was momentarily distracted, “You only saw my revolver for half a second.  How do you know what type it is?”

“Gibbs is a weapons expert,” said Tim, “That’s how he knows what made those marks in the ground.”

“Are we going to _chat_ about guns or _do_ something?” demanded Gibbs crossly.

“Good point, Gibbs,” said Tony.

“We could try and get to their boat and disable it,” suggested Tim.

“No good,” said Gibbs, “They can get away by land.”

“What then?  We wait and see if we can overpower them?” asked Tim, trying to sound confident but aware that he was unarmed and might not be able to help much.

“What are they doing, DiNozzo?  Can you see?” asked Gibbs.

Tony lifted his head cautiously and peered down to the landing area.  “They’re unloading more stuff,” he announced.

“McGee,” said Gibbs, “Can you use this radio equipment to get a message out?”

“No, Boss,” said Tim.

“Damn,” said Gibbs.

“But …” continued Tim.

“What?” asked Tony and Gibbs together.

“I might be able to use _my_ transmitter,” he reached into his knapsack and drew out what looked like a bundle of wires and metal to Gibbs and Tony.  “I brought it with me, just in case.”

“You can use that?” asked Tony.

“It will take a while.  I’ll have to wire it into this equipment’s battery and then modulate …”

“McGee!” snapped Gibbs, “Can you do it?”

“Yes, Boss,” said McGee with more confidence than he felt.

“Right,” said Tony, “Gibbs and I will go down and keep watch over our _friends._   We’ll try and stop them coming up here, if we can.  That sound all right, Gibbs?”

Gibbs nodded, “McGee, contact the Nevada.  Tell them … tell them what, DiNozzo?”

“Tell them to contact ACC Paget and warn them that we have armed criminals preparing an attack.  And tell them to call Whitehall 615 – they’ll know what to do.  Give them as much detail as possible.  And then get out of here.  Follow the road and you’ll come to a farm or some cottages – you’ll be safe there.”

Tim nodded, already feverishly beginning work on attaching his transmitter to the radio equipment. 

“You all right?” asked Gibbs, bending to look at Tim.

“I’m fine,” said Tim, “Go!”

Gibbs wasted no more time but set off with Tony down towards the intruders.

“Whitehall 615?” he breathed as they padded stealthily down.

Tony nodded.

“MI5?” asked Gibbs.

“Called the Security Service now,” replied Tony softly, “But yes.”

“You know what’s going on?” asked Gibbs.

“I think so … damn!”

The exclamation was triggered by a shout ahead of them.

_“There’s a boat here!” came a loud voice._

_“Might not mean anything,” came another voice.  “Someone might be here for a picnic.”_

_“Then why not land where we did?  I don’t like it.”_

_“We’ll go and see.”_

_“No, we should just go.  Come back later.”_

“ _We can’t do that.  We have equipment up there that we need.”_

_“We can wait by their boat.  In hiding, see what they do when they return.  If they haven’t found anything we can let them go.”_

Gibbs and Tony halted their descent and looked each other doubtfully although a peaceful stakeout of their boat would be a relatively good outcome for them assuming that McGee could get a message through.  At that moment, however, there came a high-pitched whining sound.

“ _That’s the radio!”_ _came the voice of one of the intruders._

_“That’s not possible!”_

_“You heard it!  That’s the noise it makes when it’s warming up!  Come on!  We’ve got to stop them.”_

Tony and Gibbs nodded to each other as they realised that they had to act.  They drew their weapons and moved forward,

“Stop!” called Tony, “You’re under arrest.”  He thought about adding the customary reason for arrest but realised he wasn’t sure what that would be.

The three men whipped out their own guns and, unlike Gibbs and Tony, fired immediately and wildly.  Tony and Gibbs hit the ground and when they looked up they saw that the three men were fleeing back down the track. 

“You all right?” asked Gibbs.

“Fine.  You?”

“Yeah.  They’re lousy shots.  Come on!”

Gibbs and Tony ran down the track but by the time they got to the bottom, the men were in their boat and pushing off.  They fired shots at their pursuers, but the rocking of the boat didn’t help with their aim.

“We’ve got to stop them,” said Tony as he switched direction to run towards their own boat.

It was about another five minutes before Gibbs and Tony got the _Belle_ away from the boulders and were able to pick up speed.

“Which way did they go?” asked Gibbs as he looked around.

Tony gunned the engine and went out into the Sound.  He looked back at the Fort and pointed, “Look!  McGee!”

Gibbs looked up and they saw McGee waving and pointing South away from Plymouth.

Gibbs waved back in acknowledgement and Tony began to move the boat in that direction too.

“They don’t look too happy in that boat,” observed Gibbs.

“No.  If we can just move them around a bit more to the South West,” said Tony.

“What?  You got a plan?”

“Look,” said Tony.  He pointed to the long structure across the stretch of water.  “It’s the breakwater.  If we drive them towards that we might be able to trap them.”

Gibbs nodded at this plan and fired off a shot aimed at the man steering the boat.  There was no chance of hitting him, but it distracted him, and he swung around in the direction Tony wanted them to go.

Their quarry copied Gibbs and began to fire off shots in their direction but the movement of their boat and, as Gibbs had earlier pointed out, their poor aim meant they didn’t hit Tony or Gibbs.

“You think McGee got through?” gasped Tony has he ducked at the noise of another shot.

“Yep,” said Gibbs, “He usually does what he says he’ll do.”

“Good,” said Tony.  “Look, it’s working!”  He pointed to the other boat which was now very close to the breakwater and seemed to have stopped.

“Hah!” said Gibbs.  “I think their engine’s overheated.”

“Then we’ve got them,” said Tony.

As they watched the three men on board managed to scramble on to the breakwater and began running.

“Where do they think they’re going?” asked Tony in exasperation.

“Swimming?” suggested Gibbs.  “It’s only about 1000 yards to shore from the end of the breakwater.”

“Come on then,” said Tony, “I guess we might have to get our feet wet after all.”

It seemed that Gibbs was right, and the men were planning to swim ashore.  They were running towards the end of the breakwater, occasionally looking back to see if they were being pursued but Tony dodged around the other side of the structure so that they were coming from a different direction and they remained unseen for the moment.  Finally, he brought the _Belle_ to a set of steps designed for mooring and they quickly tied up and sprinted forward.

The three men suddenly realised that Tony and Gibbs had landed on the breakwater and they stopped and, this time, took more careful aim.

“Still lousy shots,” said Gibbs contemptuously as they missed once more.

“They’re getting closer though,” said Tony in some alarm.  “Doesn’t make sense,” he muttered as the men started running again.

Gibbs almost had a smile on his face as he set off in pursuit, “What doesn’t?” he asked.

“All that heavy weaponry they had,” said Tony, “But they can’t hit a barn door with a pistol.”

“Different skill set,” said Gibbs.  “It’s more mathematical/mechanical with mortars.  Hand guns need good hand-eye co-ordination.”

“Thank you, _Gunnery_ Sergeant Gibbs,” said Tony.

The men were at the end of the breakwater by now.

“Stop!” bellowed Gibbs.  “Or I’ll shoot … we’ll shoot … and believe me, we’re better shots than you are.  We won’t miss!”  he turned to Tony and asked quietly, “We won’t, will we?”

“I was second in the pistol shooting competition in my last year at school,” said Tony proudly.

“Good enough,” said Gibbs.

“Of course,” said Tony softly, “There were only two of us in the competition.”

The three men seemed to have decided that further flight was futile and stood stoically awaiting their fate.

“What now?” asked Gibbs as he began to wonder how they would get three more people into the _Belle_.

“Now,” said Tony with a malicious grin, “They can go into the cage.” 

Gibbs grinned back, and they gestured to the three men to move towards the cage which, for sailors in past years had been a place of refuge, but which for them was a place of captivity.

Tony and Gibbs nodded with satisfaction as they saw the men imprisoned.

“Looks as if the cavalry’s coming,” commented Gibbs.  He pointed to a police launch and a couple of Navy patrol boats making their way to their location.

“McGee did good,” said Tony.

“I reckon we all did good,” said Gibbs.  “Although it helps if the bad guys can’t shoot straight!”

“We’ve got to get the breaks sometimes,” said Tony.  “And don’t underrate them.  I suspect they’d have done better when they got down to work.  We just took them by surprise.  They’re planners, not good at reacting quickly.”

“And what were they planning, Tony?” asked Gibbs. “You seemed to join the dots pretty quickly.  What _plot_ have we just broken up?  And where does Lincoln Symonds fit in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I got any weaponry wrong – it’s not my strongpoint. Picklecombe Fort is real – although I may have changed it a little for the purposes of the story. And once I found out there was a cage on Plymouth Breakwater … well, it was crying out to have bad guys put in it!


	7. Chapter 7

_“And what were they planning, Tony?” asked Gibbs. “You seemed to join the dots pretty quickly.  What plot have we just broken up?  And where does Lincoln Symonds fit in?”_

“Later,” said Tony as he ran towards the rescue boats which were tying up.

He went to the police launch first.  “Dorneget!” he shouted as he recognised the young constable.

“Sir!”

“Take charge of the prisoners in the cage.”

“The cage?”

“You heard me.  Take them back to Plymouth.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The captain of one of the Navy patrol ships approached Tony, “Captain Drinkwater - Chief Inspector?”

“Yes.  And this is Gibbs.  Are your vessels armed?”

“Yes, they are.  What do you need?”

“I need one to go to Fort Picklecombe and secure it until the police arrive.  There may be weapons concealed there so be careful.”

“Understood.”

“The other one needs to go to Fort Bovisand,” Tony gestured towards the fort on the other coast which guarded the eastern edge of the Sound.  “Gibbs, you want to go to Picklecombe and pick up McGee or come with me?”

Gibbs looked his disgust and Tony read it correctly.

“Fair enough, you come with us.  Captain, I’d be grateful if you could get someone to take my dinghy back to Plymouth,” said Tony.

In other circumstances, Drinkwater and Gibbs would probably have got on splendidly as the Royal Navy officer was a man of few words and simply nodded his agreement and went to give his orders.

A few minutes later, Gibbs and Tony jumped on to the boat which was going to Bovisand Fort.

“You going to explain?” asked Gibbs as they got underway.

“HM is visiting on Monday,” said Tony.

“HM?”

“His Majesty.”

“What?”

“King George.  An unannounced visit.”

“How is it _unannounced_ if you know about it?” demanded Gibbs.

Tony looked exasperated, “He’s the King!  Of course, people know it’s happening but it’s not a big deal.”

“What’s he going to do here?”

“He’ll visit the dockyard.  I’m guessing he’ll meet with your Secretary of the Navy.  And he’s going on a trip around the Sound,” said Tony.

“And you think what we found before is connected to this visit?”

“What do you think?  We found evidence of heavy weapons being deployed on one strategic position … and we’re on our way to check whether the same applies to the other vantage point.”

“Why deploy in two positions … wait, they wouldn’t know which way the boat would go.  Deploying in two positions gives them a better chance of success,” reasoned Gibbs.  “You sure the King is the target?”

Tony gave a Gibbs-like shrug, “Seems the most likely.  We have crime in the city of course, but nothing that needs military gauge weapons.”

“How long have you known about the visit?”

“About a week.  Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’ve been keeping secrets from you.”

“You have!” said Gibbs.

“Gibbs,” said Tony in a voice of frustration, “Tell me, would you have imagined that you being here would have anything to do with an attempted assassination?”

“Well …”

“If I’d thought it mattered, I’d have told you,” said Tony.  “But truthfully, we’re sort of used to these visits.  They’re quite routine and they’re an open secret really.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “But it involves me now.”

“How so?”

“Sec Nav …”

“Who?” interrupted Tony.

“Hey, if you can have _HM_ I reckon I’m entitled to Sec Nav.”

“Oh, Secretary of the Navy,” said Tony.

“Yeah.  If _Sec Nav_ is potentially in the crossfire – then I’m interested.”

“Fair enough,” said Tony.  “Come on, we’re here.”

Gibbs muttered something under his breath about Tony’s talent for stating the obvious but followed him meekly enough as they made their way to the top of the fort.

“What does that look like to you, Gibbs?” asked Tony as he pointed to indentations in the ground.

“Same as before,” said Gibbs.  “Setting up heavy weapons.”

“Where are they then?” asked Tony.

“Guess they’re stowed away somewhere dry,” said Gibbs.  “Not as if you can guarantee dry weather here, can you?”

“There are old storage sheds here,” said Tony ignoring this aspersion on West Country weather.  “We’ll search them all.”

“No chance of keeping this under wraps?  You know, trying to lure any other conspirators in?” asked Gibbs.

“Don’t see how,” said Tony.  “Two Royal Navy patrol vessels and a police launch racing to the breakwater isn’t exactly lowkey.  Not to mention three people being in custody.  I think if our friends had anyone working with them, they’ll be out of Plymouth by now.”  He saw Gibbs about to say something and hastened to say, “We won’t assume, of course.  We’ll keep a presence on both forts to make sure nobody comes back, and the Security Service will be on alert, but I think this is it.  What do you think?”

Gibbs considered for a moment and then nodded agreement.

XXXXXX

“Good work, PD,” said Assistant Chief Constable Paget when they all met up at the police station.

“Thank you, Sir.  But we were lucky.”

“Agreed,” said Paget drily, “But it was good work all the same.”

“It was McGee who started it off, Sir,” said Tony.

“So I understand,” said the ACC as he bestowed a friendlier look on the two Americans than when he had first met them.  “What made you think there was a problem on Picklecombe, Mr McGee?”

“I was using my landlady’s wireless equipment … well, not _her_ equipment: it belongs to her son.  I’m interested in radio, you see.  I’m building a set of my own.  Anyway, when I was using it I picked up some signals which sounded strange …”

“And you thought _strange_ signals were suspicious?” asked Paget.  “Why?”

McGee hesitated, not wanting to explain that he had been on the alert for espionage as he didn’t buy Gibbs’ cover story for their being in Plymouth.  “Well, Sir … I know there’s a lot of secret work being done in the city …”

“You do?” said Paget disapprovingly.

“Uh … well …”

“I understand,” said Paget suddenly, “You mean on the Nevada?  Say no more, I won’t expect you to reveal any of your country’s secrets.”

“Oh.  Thank you, Sir,” said McGee feeling grateful that Paget didn’t think they were talking about _British_ secrets.

“So, we thought we should investigate,” said Gibbs deciding to come to McGee’s support.

“And you brought in PD in case you needed to make an arrest,” said Paget.  “Well, that’s excellent work, gentlemen.  And I hope you won’t mind me saying that I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Sir?” said Gibbs.

“Yes, I don’t mind admitting when I’m wrong …” Gibbs was aware of a sceptical look on Tony’s face … “But in this case, I see that I was wrong.  I had thought that you and Mr McGee would want to go off and try to do things on your own but instead you acted in co-operation with the British law.  Excellent, it makes me much more hopeful about the idea of placing floating agents with your ships.”

Gibbs nodded blandly; the uninitiated might have thought that praise for co-operation and caution was music to his ears.

“And even though we came across something completely different,” continued the ACC, “… and unexpected … we’re grateful to you for what we found out.  Even if it was a complete accident.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Gibbs.

Paget nodded benignly and left the room.

“You were lucky,” said Tony when they were on their own.

“How so?” asked Gibbs.

“That Paget didn’t think there was any chance of it being a case of _British_ work on radio being spied on.”

“What?” asked McGee.  “How would he know that?”

“Well,” said Tony cautiously, “That work has been transferred out of Plymouth.”

“What!” exclaimed Gibbs.

“A few weeks ago,” confirmed Tony.  “I’m not saying there isn’t any other secret work going on here … but not about radio waves.”

“So you knew that any spying would be on American work?” said Gibbs.

“’Fraid so.  I might not have been able to let you in on spying on _British_ secrets.”

McGee swallowed anxiously as he recognised the signs of Gibbs building up to an argument but, at that moment, there was a knock on the door and PC Dorneget came in.

“Sir, I wanted to let you know that hidden weapons were found on Picklecombe.  And Bovisand.  It looks as if our suspects set the weaponry up and worked out the best positions and then stowed it away again.  We also found some sort of code list …”

“Code list?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes, Sir … I mean, Gibbs.  They were transmitting in code and our radio expert thinks they were probably trying to listen in to other messages being broadcast.  That’s probably why the signals picked up by Tim … I mean, McGee looked unusual.”

“Oh,” said Tim.  “Is your expert sure?”

“Yes,” said Dorneget.

“Who’s our expert?” asked Tony with a knowing smile.

“Um, me, Sir,” said Dorneget.  “I mean, I’m not an official expert or anything but I’m very interested.  My cousin Sam …”

“Sam Damerell?” asked Tim.

“Yes, that’s right.  He’s a wireless operator and he’s taught me a lot,” replied Ned.

“Oh,” said Tim.  “I see.”

“Doesn’t matter, Tim,” said Gibbs, “What matters is that we caught them before they could do anything.”

Tim nodded sadly, still a little reluctant to abandon the idea of a spy ring.

“Sir,” said Ned, “The ACC asked me to tell you that the officers from London are on their way to take the prisoners back with them.”

“I see,” said Tony momentarily looking as sad as Tim, “Oh well, I suppose we knew _we_ wouldn’t really get a crack at them.  Thank you, Ned.”

“So, what happens now?” asked Gibbs.

“We put a watch on all the forts and other strategic points,” said Tony.  “Increase patrols and keep on the alert for anything odd happening.”

“And we still need to find Lincoln Symonds,” said Tim.

“And we’d better go and tell the Secretary of the Navy that he might have got caught up in an assassination attempt,” said Gibbs.

“And …” began Tony as the other two got up to go.  There was something in his tone of voice that made Gibbs at least look back with suspicion, “And you both need to get your best bib and tucker out.”

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Oh, you know … find something smart to wear,” replied Tony.

“We get that.  Why?” said Gibbs.

Tony grinned the annoying grin he wore when he knew something Gibbs didn’t.  “The King wants to thank us for saving his life.  He’s paying a visit to the station on Monday!”

XXXXXX

Sec Nav had been delighted to learn of the part that Gibbs and McGee had, inadvertently, played in preventing the British king being blown up and insisted that his compatriots should indeed meet the monarch.  Gibbs had tried to suggest that the search for the missing petty officer should take priority, but his objection was swept aside with the result that he and McGee lined up in the entrance hall of the police station on Monday morning waiting to be presented.

“Relax, Gibbs,” said Tony.  “Remember, it’s over a century since you got independence.  Nobody’s going to accuse you of going back on being a republican if you shake hands with a king.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs as he tugged at his tie.

“And at least you didn’t have to spend hours polishing your buttons,” said Tony as he looked down at his uniform with its admittedly very shiny buttons.

“True,” conceded Gibbs.  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to one of Tony’s medal ribbons.

“What?”

“The one next to your Military Cross,” said Gibbs.  “That’s new.”

Tony looked at Gibbs with a familiar feeling of exasperation; Gibbs had only once seen him wearing his medals but had somehow memorised them.  “It’s a police medal,” he said.

“It’s the King’s Police Medal,” chipped in Dorneget who was standing nearby.  “It’s only awarded to a maximum of 40 people in the United Kingdom in any one year.  And it’s only given for outstanding …”

“Enough!” snapped Tony.

Gibbs nodded his thanks to Dorneget.  McGee looked at Tony’s uniform thoughtfully, “I didn’t know you had a uniform, Tony.”

“Oh.  Well, we all have uniforms but I don’t get to wear mine often … you know, being a detective and all.”

“Ah,” said McGee, “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” asked Tony.

“Oh, nothing.  Just thinking, you know,” said McGee vaguely although he was wondering just how much weight Tony had lost since he last wore his uniform.

Further conversation came to an end as the royal car drew up at that moment.

“That’s unexpected,” breathed Tony as he saw the passengers.

“What?” breathed back Gibbs.

“PM is here.”

“PM?”

“Prime Minister, Ramsay MacDonald.  Perhaps he was a target as well,” replied Tony before lapsing into silence as the King approached with the ACC at his side.

“Ah, PD,” said the King, “Good to see you again.”

“Your Majesty,” said Tony with a bow.

“And how’s your grandfather, old Netley?”

“He’s very well, Sir.  Thank you.”

“Tell him I’m looking forward to seeing him at Sandringham for the shooting.”

“I will, Sir.”

“Now, introduce me to our American friends.”

“Yes, Sir.  May I present Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs of the United States Marine Corps, currently on secondment to the Office of Naval Intelligence.”

“Sir,” said Gibbs with a nod.

“United States Marine Corps,” said the King, “Fine body of men.  Our Royal Marines do a lot of work down here in the West Country, you know.  Perhaps you could meet up with them.  You’d find it interesting.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Gibbs.

“And this is Mr Timothy McGee,” said Tony, “He also works for the Office of Naval Intelligence.”

“Mr McGee,” said the King.  “I understand your father is an Admiral in the US Navy?”

“Er … yes, Sir,” said McGee, wanting to ask how the King knew but thinking it would be rude to ask.

“Well,” said the King, “We’re very grateful for all that you’ve done.  Splendid.  Excellent.  Good show,” and he moved on.

A few minutes later the royal party had moved on and Gibbs took the opportunity to speak to Tony,

“You didn’t expect the Prime Minister?”

“No, not really but I suppose it’s not completely unexpected.”

“Why not?”

“Gibbs, you must know this country is heading for a political crisis to go along with the economic one.  HM is in discussions with political leaders … who knows what’s going to happen?”

“Does that make an assassination attempt more likely?” asked McGee.

“Good question, McGee,” said Tony.  “If the assassins thought they could kill the PM as well as the King … well, who knows what would happen?”

“Well …” began Gibbs before being interrupted by a new arrival.

“Excuse me, Sir.  I’m one of the King’s equerries – he requested that I deliver these to you and Mr McGee as a token of his esteem,” and he handed an envelope and small package each to Gibbs and McGee before nodding and moving away.

“What is it?” asked Tim as he turned the package over in his hands.

“Open it and find out,” said Gibbs brusquely as he tore the envelope open and read its contents.

“What does it say?” asked Tony.

“See for yourself,” said Gibbs handing the letter to Tony.

“Hmm, very gracious,” said Tony approvingly, “Thanking you for your inestimable service to the United Kingdom.”

Tim looked happy as he read the handwritten note although Gibbs looked less than overwhelmed at the compliment.

“What’s in the boxes?” asked Tony.

Gibbs opened his box to reveal a pair of gold cufflinks bearing the royal monogram while Tim had a tiepin with a similar embellishment.

“It’s the thought that counts,” said Tony consolingly as he saw that Gibbs was wondering when on earth he would wear a pair of royal cufflinks.

“Yes, it is,” said Gibbs … and Tony thought he probably meant it.

Tim was wide-eyed at the thought of having received a gift from the British king and would obviously treasure the tiepin.  Gibbs allowed him a moment of exaltation before bringing him down to earth,

“We still need to find Lincoln Symonds.  Any ideas, DiNozzo?”

Before Tony could answer, PC Travers made a stately entrance, “Begging your pardon, Sir but there’s been a phone call for you.”

“Yes?” replied Tony.

“Yes, Mr DiNozzo … the other Mr DiNozzo, you understand … telephoned from the Grand.”

“Damn,” said Tony.

“Yes, Sir.  You had arranged to meet him there at 10.00am.  He wanted to point out that it is now 10.30am,” said Travers.

“Thank you, Travers.  Call him back, will you and tell him that I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

“Yes, Sir.  I took the liberty of telling him that you’d been held up meeting His Majesty,” he paused for effect, “… but I’m not sure that it helped.”

“Thank you, Travers,” said Tony.

“And I thought you might also want to know that Mr Norris – him as asked for directions the other day – is also staying at the Grand Hotel,” Travers raised his eyes to the ceiling and said to nobody in particular, “He’s a gentleman as seems to get around a lot.”  He nodded in a stately and knowing way, “I’ll go and make that phone call, Sir.”

“You worked out what you’re going to say to him?” asked Gibbs.

“Who?  Christopher Norris?”

“You know who I mean,” said Gibbs, “Your father.”

“That makes more sense,” agreed Tony, “Especially as I didn’t really expect Norris still to be hanging around.  And no, I haven’t worked out what to say.  Play it by ear, I suppose.  I’ll see you later.”

XXXXXX

A few minutes later, Gibbs and McGee were seated in what had become their favoured café on Plymouth Hoe.

“Boss,” said Tim hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Did you think it was spies that I detected on the radio?”

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee before replying, “I thought it was possible,” he said.

“But not likely?”

Gibbs shrugged, “I’ve learned that almost anything is possible.”

“Huh,” said McGee, “And you didn’t suspect an assassination attempt?”

“What?  What makes you think that?” demanded Gibbs.

“Well, I thought there might have been a rumour.  You know, and that’s why we’re here,” said Tim.

“McGee,” said Gibbs, “I didn’t even know that Sec Nav was going to be here.  And I definitely didn’t know about an assassination attempt.”

McGee stared at Gibbs as he weighed up the truthfulness of this response, “Then why did we go looking at the forts?” he asked finally.

Gibbs gazed back, “To get DiNozzo out in the fresh air,” he replied blandly.

XXXXXX

Meanwhile, Tony had arrived at the Grand Hotel.

“Chief Inspector,” said the manager, “What a pleasure to see you again.  What can we do for you today?  If you want to wait for luncheon we are serving a very fine mackerel pâté with roast lamb to follow …”

“No, thank you, Coombes,” said Tony, “I’m here to see a guest of yours, Mr DiNozzo.”

“Oh,” said Coombes.  Tony caught a number of expressions flit across his face including finally realising the likeness in names (and faces) and something like relief to know that the guest was so well connected.  “Oh, of course.  Do come this way, I believe he is in the lounge.”

“No need,” said Tony, “I know the way.”

“Would you like me to bring some refreshments?” asked the manager.

“No need,” said Tony again, feeling that he could do without anyone listening into his conversation.  He mentally braced himself and walked into the lounge where his father was sitting by a window.  “Sir,” said Tony as he drew near.

“About time,” said Mr DiNozzo, “I’m not used to being kept waiting.”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

_“About time,” said Mr DiNozzo, “I’m not used to being kept waiting.”_

“Oh,” said Tony, “I am.  After all, I’ve been waiting nearly 30 years for you to show up.”

Mr DiNozzo looked up sharply but there was nothing to read on his son’s face.  He swallowed,

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for this to start off like that.”

“What is _this_?” asked Tony.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what you expect to happen,” said Tony, “Why you’ve got back in contact after all these years.”

“Well, you could sit down for a start,” said DiNozzo Senior, “No need to stand there towering over me.”

“Of course,” said Tony politely as he took a seat opposite his father but taking care not to sit back or give the impression that he was settling in for a long talk.

“You know, it’s odd,” said DiNozzo Senior after looking at Tony for some moments.

“What is?”

“Seeing you … hearing you.”

“You’ll have to explain,” said Tony.

“You look so familiar … and yet I don’t recognise you,” he paused again but seemed to realise that Tony wasn’t going to prompt him again.  “You have your mother’s eyes … and they haven’t changed in all these years.  And you look like me – or at least me when I was your age.  And yet you don’t sound like me.  It’s odd hearing you talk with a British accent, it’s unsettling.”

“How did you expect me to sound?” asked Tony with a hint of irritation, “I’ve lived in England for years.”

“I know,” said Senior raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.  “You’re looking well,” he continued, “Although you look tired.  You know, your Mom used to get that same look in her eyes when there was something on her mind.”  He lapsed into silence once more.

Tony let the silence go on for a minute or two before saying, “You know, Sir, I’m very busy at the moment … not got a lot of time to spare so if you could just explain what you want from me …”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

“Forgive me, I haven’t got much to go on – you know, not much experience of knowing what you’re like.”

Senior winced slightly, “I guess I deserved that.  We haven’t been as close as I would have liked.”

Tony laughed a humourless laugh, “And whose fault is that?”

“You don’t understand,” said Senior, “It was very difficult when your Mom died.  I was devastated – I loved her very much, you know.”

“I do know,” said Tony quietly, “I loved her too.  And I was only eight years old, I didn’t really understand what was going on.”

“I had to look after you,” said Senior, “I had to make a living, but I wasn’t coping well.  And then your uncle swooped in … told me he could look after you better … it just seemed …”

“Easier,” supplied Tony with a hint of bitterness.

“Yes … no … _easier_ ’s not the right word – I decided it was _better._   Better for you and better for …”

“You,” said Tony.

“I guess.  Yes, I guess I thought it would be better for me, but I soon found out it wasn’t.  I missed you, Junior.  I can’t tell you how much.”

“Oh, I could guess.  I remember how much I missed _you_.  Cried myself to sleep for days, weeks.”

“You did?” asked Senior with a gratified look on his face.  “I didn’t think you would.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” demanded Tony with the first real emotion he had shown.  “I was eight years old, my mother had died, and my father had abandoned me!”

“I didn’t abandon you!” denied Senior.

“It felt like it,” said Tony.  “Something else I didn’t understand.”

“But George – your uncle was good to you, wasn’t he?”

Tony stared back, “It’s a bit late to ask that, isn’t it?”

“You mean he wasn’t?” asked Senior in shock.

Tony glared back at him, “He was wonderful.  And Aunt Charlotte.  They treated me as if I was their son, brought me up just like Andrew.”

“Andrew?”

“Their son, my cousin.  Sent me to the same public school as him.”

_“Public_ school!” said Senior in tones of outrage, “Couldn’t they do better than that?”

“Public school means something different here,” said Tony coolly, “Public schools are fee paying.  The most expensive form of education in England.  I went to Winchester College which is one of the finest schools in the country.  It’s a family tradition to go there.”

“A _Paddington_ tradition,” said Senior.

“What did you expect?  I was brought up as a Paddington.”

“Yes,” said Senior.  “Well, I’m glad they were good to you.”

“Did it never worry you that they might not be treating me well?” asked Tony curiously.

“No.  I knew how fond your Uncle George was of your Mom … and that he was a good man.  I knew he’d look after you – if only to spite me.”

“Not everything is about you, Sir,” said Tony softly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Sir.  Nothing that matters.”

“And I knew you were getting the gifts I sent,” said Senior.  “That reassured me.”

“How so?”

“If they’d been treating you badly they wouldn’t have let you have them,” explained Senior.

“I see.  So, twice a year you got a reassurance that the son you’d sent thousands of miles away to a strange country was doing all right?”

“Yes,” said Senior, apparently not recognising any sarcasm.  “And I treasured the thank you letters you sent.”

“You know,” said Tony, “I always hoped you might reply to one of them.”

“Ah, well, I’m not much for writing letters,” said Senior.

“I guessed that,” said Tony sadly, “But somehow it was a long time before I stopped hoping.  And even when I did, Aunt Charlotte still insisted I write the thankyou letters.”

“She did?”

“Yes.  They brought me up as a Paddington, but they never let me forget about you.  Even when I wanted to.”

“You wanted to forget me?”

Tony shrugged, “Sometimes it seemed easier.”

“I never forgot _you._ That’s why I sent you the DiNozzo signet ring.”

“The last thing you sent me.”

“It got difficult – you know that.  Letters during wartime weren’t reliable.”

“The war’s been over thirteen years.  I’m pretty sure that the post is better now.”

Senior winced again, “I know but I reckon I felt you were better off without me.  That you had always been better off without me.”  He looked up at his son as if he hoped Tony would contradict him, but he remained stoically silent for a few moments before saying,

“Then what are we doing here?  Why did you decide to reach out after all this time?”

“Getting old changes things,” said Senior.

“You mean you want me to look after you?”

“No, of course not!  No, I didn’t mean that.  I meant that age changes your perspective, makes you take the long view, think about what’s important.”

“And what is important to you?”

“You’re my only son.  Of course that’s important.”

“Then why now?”

“I heard you got married.”

“So?”

“I got a different image of you … wanted to see what you were like as a married man.”

“So you thought I might be different as a married man to the boy you last saw nearly three decades ago?”

“You know what I mean, don’t be deliberately obtuse,” snapped Senior.

“I apologise … although for all you know I _am_ obtuse – it might not be an act.”

“Of course you’re not stupid.  You’re a DiNozzo!”

“But you think of me as a Paddington.”

“We’re not getting anywhere,” huffed Senior, “Look, knowing you were married meant that I could see the DiNozzo line being continued after all.  You know, that there might be young DiNozzos to come.”

“Young _Paddington_ -DiNozzos,” corrected Tony.

“Paddington-DiNozzos,” repeated Senior.  “It was bad enough knowing I hadn’t seen my son grow up but the thought that there would be grandchildren I never knew either … well, it hurt.”

“So you decided to get back in touch?”

“Yes.”

“Like collecting a parcel from left-luggage?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, leaving a package that’s too cumbersome somewhere safe until you want it again.  That’s what it feels like,” said Tony.

“I understand you being angry,” said Senior, “But what’s done is done.  There’s no use in regretting what we did in the past.”

“What _we_ did?  Because somehow I don’t remember having much choice in what happened to me.”

“What _I_ did,” amended Senior, “But you’re an adult now – you must be able to understand why I did what I did.”

“I do understand,” said Tony.

“Good.”

“I understand why you let Uncle George take me.  But I don’t understand why you let them keep me.  I don’t understand why you didn’t come and see me.  I don’t understand why you only got in contact twice a year … if I was lucky.  I didn’t understand that all those years ago and I don’t understand that now.”

Tony’s father swallowed, “What can I say?  That’s how it turned out.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, truly I didn’t … I guess I didn’t think you’d mind much.  I guess I didn’t have a high opinion of myself and figured you’d feel the same.”

Tony gazed at Senior for a long moment before saying, “You’re right.  It’s in the past, no point in going over it all again.  It’s not going to change anything.  It’s done and it’s too late now.”

“Too late?  You mean …”

“I’m not going to quarrel with you,” said Tony wearily.  “I don’t hate you.”

“Good.”

“I’m not sure I feel anything about you.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than hating me,” said Senior.  “But when you saw me the other day, you called me _Father_.  You haven’t done that today.”

“I was shocked,” said Tony, “It came out without me thinking but, at the moment, I don’t really want to call you that again.”

“At the moment,” said Senior, “Does that mean you might one day?”

“I don’t know,” said Tony, “It’s not likely, is it?  I mean, you’ll be going back to the States.  My life is here.  And like you said, you’re not much for writing letters.  I don’t see us meeting much in the future, do you?”

“I could try harder,” said Senior.  “And I’ll be coming here more often.”

“You will?”

“I’ve got some business deals with people here.”

“I’m not promising anything,” said Tony.

“Will you write back if I write to you?”

“Maybe.  If I think there’s anything to say to you.”

“You’re not making this easy, Junior.”

“You know, _Junior_ might have been cute when I was eight years old, but it’s worn off now,” said Tony.

“I’m sorry.  What should I call you?  Your Mom used to call you Anthony.”

“Not many people call me that now,” said Tony stonily, “Most people call me Tony, that’ll do.”

“There’s so much I’d like to talk to you about,” said Senior.

“I think we’ve said enough for today,” said Tony getting ready to go.

At that moment the barman began clearing glasses from an adjoining table and saw Tony for the first time.  He smiled broadly and approached Tony and Senior and began talking excitedly in Italian.  Tony replied in the same language and the barman nodded before going on with his work.

“You still speak Italian,” said Senior.

“I made Uncle George get me lessons,” said Tony.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to lose it.  Just like I’ve always kept the DiNozzo part of my name.  I’ve tried to be proud of being a DiNozzo – even when it was hard.”

“I’m glad,” said Senior.

“I should be going,” said Tony.  He paused, feeling the awkwardness of ending the conversation: conventional words such as _it was a pleasure to meet you_ or _we should do this again_ were completely inappropriate.

“I have something for you,” said Senior taking a package out of his briefcase.

“What is it?”

“Photographs.  I got copies made of our wedding photographs, of your Christening … family pictures.  I thought you might like to have them.”

Tony took the parcel and started leafing through the pictures.

“There’s one of you and your Mom,” said Senior, “I think it must be the last one.  It’s outside some sort of theatre, I think she’d taken you to one of the early movies.”

Tony swallowed, “Yes, I remember.  I think we were both terrified!”  He smiled, “Thank you.  I’ll treasure them.”

“Good.  Huh, that man’s hanging around again.”

“Which man?”

“Norris.  He’s high up in a big shipbuilding company.  He’s been angling for some sort of deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

Senior looked discontented, “I’m not sure.  He’s not big on specifics.  Wants to know a lot about what _I_ do but backs away if I ask for details about what he’s offering.  He said he knows you.”

“Yes.  We were at Cambridge together.”

“He’s a friend?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Tony.

“Good,” said Senior.

“Why do you say that?” asked Tony curiously.

“There’s something not right there,” said Senior.  “And believe me, I’ve got a nose for things not being right.  He’s up to something but I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I must go,” said Tony.  He hesitated and then put out his hand to be shaken.  His father took it in both hands and held it for a long time.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said.  “I hope we can be … friends.”

“I’m not promising anything,” said Tony again, “But if you write, I’ll try and answer.”

“Good enough,” said Senior.  “Stay well, won’t you?”

“Thank you for the photographs,” said Tony before nodding and leaving.

XXXXXX

Somehow Tony wasn’t surprised to find Gibbs lurking outside the hotel entrance.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Well, I didn’t find Lincoln Symonds in there,” said Tony drily, “If that’s what you meant.”

“You know what I meant.  How did it go with your father?”

“I don’t know,” said Tony, “I haven’t got much experience with chats with my father to be able to judge.”  He sensed Gibbs’ impatience and relented, “We didn’t come to blows, which I guess is a positive.  And I think we agreed to let the past be the past.”

“Fair enough,” said Gibbs, “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want, Gibbs,” said Tony frankly.  “I suppose I want it never to have happened but …”

“But what?”

“But I had a happy life with my aunt and uncle … and I’m grateful for that.  And I have a feeling that life with my father wouldn’t have been so … settled.  It’s just that …”

“It would have been with your father,” finished Gibbs for him.

“I guess.  It’s complicated … I think it’s best left in the past.”

“What you got there?” asked Gibbs pointing to the parcel.

“Photographs,” said Tony.  “That was kind of him.  I’ve got pictures from when I came to England, but these are of Mom and when I was younger.”

“Baby photos?” said Gibbs with a grin.

“Which I may not show you,” said Tony with dignity, “But I expect Lucy will like to see me in my sailor suit!”

“Sailor suit?” said Gibbs with relish.  Tony was surprised he didn’t rub his hands with glee.

XXXXXX

Gibbs and Tony walked back to the police station, Gibbs explained that he had sent McGee to the Nevada to see if he could get any information from Lincoln Symonds’ shipmates.

“You going to give up?” asked Tony as he sat at his desk.

“May have to,” said Gibbs.  “The Nevada leaves at the end of the week.  It won’t wait for one petty officer to show up.”

There was a knock at the door and PC Dorneget came in showing signs of excitement,

“Chief Inspector … Gibbs … we just had a phone call!”

“Yes?” said Gibbs.

“Lincoln Symonds has been found.”

“What!” exclaimed Tony.

“Yes, at Antony’s …”

“What!” shouted Gibbs as he turned to Tony, “You’ve known where he was all the time?  What the hell are you playing at?”

“No, Gibbs …” began Dorneget, “You don’t understand …”

“I do understand,” said Gibbs, “You’ve been holding out on us …”

Tony shot to his feet in sudden fury.  “I don’t what you’re talking about, Gibbs!  But I am sick and tired of everything being my fault!  Of having to be responsible for everything.  You can all go to hell!”  He swept the papers off his desk and then stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him.  As the door thudded shut, the china cup which he had pushed to the edge of the table tumbled to the floor and smashed.  In the resulting silence, McGee came into the room in bewilderment,

“What’s happened?” he asked.  “Tony nearly knocked me over!”

“We’ve just found out that Lincoln Symonds has been hiding out at Antony’s Wool Pack Public House,” said Dorneget frostily, “It’s an area just the other side of the Sound, in Cornwall, Gibbs – it’s nothing to do with Tony.  It’s a _place_ , not a person!”

“Dorneget,” said Gibbs, “Take me to this place.”

“Shall I come as well?” asked McGee who was still clearly in shock at having seen such a furious Tony.

“No,” said Gibbs, “Go after DiNozzo.  Make sure he’s OK.”

McGee nodded and realised that perhaps he finally understood why he and Gibbs were in England.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Tim ran out of the police station and looked around in vain to catch sight of Tony.  Just as he was wondering what to do, a uniformed police constable came into view,

“Hey,” said Tim, “Have you seen your DCI?”

“Mr Paddington-DiNozzo?”  Tim nodded.  “Yes, Sir.  He walked past me a few moments ago.  Looked as if he was on his way to the Quay.  What …” His words died away as Tim hastily thanked him and sprinted in the direction indicated.

Tim tried to tell himself that Tony was going to the river because it was a favourite place, but he couldn’t help but worry what other reason there might be for an agitated person to seek the river.  It wasn’t until Tim caught sight of Tony leaning on the quay wall that his fears finally began to subside, and he stopped running.

“Hey!” 

Tony withdrew his attention from the river to see who was calling him.  “Tim?”

“I brought you a cup of tea,” said Tim nodding towards the tray he held in his hands.  Tim had decided that a few minutes’ diversion to the nearby café would be well spent.

Tony smiled tiredly, “You learn fast,” he commented.

“What?”

“Learning that a cup of tea cures most things,” said Tony.

“Well, it doesn’t for Gibbs,” said Tim thoughtfully.  “In fact, if I got him tea it would probably get him even madder than he already was.”

“I’ll amend what I said.  It works for me.  Thanks, Tim.”

Tim gestured towards a table and they sat down.  Tony allowed Tim to pour him a cup of tea but didn’t immediately start drinking.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said after a few moments’ silence.

“Don’t worry,” said Tim, “I feel like blowing up at Gibbs most days.  And at least _you_ didn’t throw anything at him.”

Tony looked at Tim curiously, “That sounds as if someone else _did_.”

“Well,” said Tim leaning forward confidentially, “A secretary back in Washington once threw a ruler at him …”

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” said Tony.

“Followed by an ink pad, stapler, blotter and bottle of ink …”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing … well, he let most of them hit him, but he caught the ink bottle.  And …”

“And what?”

“He ducked when the paper knife came at him.  She played hockey and had a strong arm.”

Tony laughed at the picture of Gibbs being under attack.  “Still,” he said, “It doesn’t excuse me losing my temper like that.”

“You know,” said McGee reflectively, “It was almost a relief.”

“Pardon?”

“You’ve always seemed so in control.  When we first met you in London, you were so certain, so confident – and you seemed to know what was best for everyone.  I admired you for that.”

“And now?  Now that you’ve seen me losing my temper over nothing?  What now?”

“Like I said, it was a relief to know that you’re human after all.”

“All too human, I’m afraid, Tim,” said Tony ruefully.  He took a sip of his tea and looked out across the river once more.

Tim wondered what to do: he suspected that Gibbs had wanted him to _do_ something, but he didn’t know what.  He took a sip of his own tea while he thought about what he could say.  In the event, it was Tony who spoke first although he didn’t look at Tim and seemed almost to be talking to himself.

“You know, I always thought of myself as being an _in control_ sort of person.  I think it was drummed into me at school, university … the army.  I told Gibbs once that I was brought up with privilege but taught that with privilege comes duty.”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” asked Tim.

“No, of course not,” said Tony.  “Of course not.  And I think it came easily to me.  And, of course, I wanted to please Uncle George … and my grandfather.  They took me in when it felt to me as if my father didn’t want me.  I think – to start with anyway – I was afraid …”

“Afraid of what?” prompted Tim.

“That if I didn’t _please_ them, learn the lessons, _fit in_ – that they wouldn’t want me anymore.  Perhaps they wouldn’t love me.  I can see now that was wrong, but I was only eight when my Mom died; it wasn’t long after that I found out that I was too much for my father to cope with … well, you can guess how much that can twist your understanding.”

“Yes, I know,” said Tim.

Tony swivelled to look at Tim in sudden interest, “You said that with feeling,” he said, “Do you get on with your father?”

Tim winced at Tony’s insight, “I suppose I _love_ him,” he said awkwardly, “But he’s difficult.  He’s an admiral, used to command, to telling people what to do.  That doesn’t always translate well into home life.  I didn’t want to disappoint him – still don’t.”

“Is that why you getting seasick is such a problem for you?”

Tim grimaced again, “I suppose so.  It would just be a nuisance but every time I’m seasick I see Father’s disappointed look again.  He wanted me to go into the Navy but that was never going to happen when I got sick every time I got on a boat.”

“You didn’t get sick when we went out on the _Belle_ ,” said Tony.

“No,” said Tim as he remembered.  “It felt different somehow.”

“Might be a lesson there,” suggested Tony gently.

“I guess,” conceded Tim, “But I know what you mean when you say how wanting to please someone can twist things.”

“It wasn’t long before I realised that my Aunt and Uncle weren’t going to ship me back for being a disappointment but the need to please people was there by that time and I don’t think it’s ever gone away.  I want to fix things, make them right … and I suppose some of that is following the example of Uncle George who I always admired.  I probably didn’t stand a chance: insecure little boy growing up with a shining example of people who do their duty and feel a sense of responsibility,” Tony smiled ruefully.

“And the War?  I’m guessing that must have changed something?” asked Tim tentatively.

Tony thought for a few moments before replying, “It should have done, shouldn’t it?”  Tim kept silence, sensing this was a rhetorical question.  “And I suppose it did,” continued Tony after another pause, “I mean, I saw terrible sights and heard terrible things … and then there was being gassed which was terrifying.  Up until then I’d always been the picture of rude health and then I was laid low by that poisonous stuff …”

“And did it change something?” prompted Tim after yet another pause.

“I don’t know,” admitted Tony.  “But I managed to put most of it behind me … decided there was nothing I could do about it and that I should just get on with what life had in store.  Some of it was probably sheer bloody-mindedness and cussedness – the War had ruined my health so I was damned I was going to let it ruin anything else.  So I just got on with it … got on with my duty.  And it worked.”

“Worked?”

“Yes, I was in control.  And people wanted me to be in control.  You’d be surprised how many people want someone cheerful and confident in their lives.  And it wasn’t an act.”

“Wasn’t?” asked McGee sharply.

“Do you remember, Tim – when we were in London and we were talking about the War?”

Tim shook his head.

“And you said that it was the war to end all wars?”

Tim nodded as he finally remembered that brief conversation.

“And Gibbs, Ducky and I weren’t so sure.  What do you think now?”

Tim thought about what he had learned in his work and what he read in the newspapers, “I don’t think I’m as sure as I was,” he admitted.

“And I haven’t become any more sure,” said Tony, “And I look at the world – at my country … or at least, the country I live in, and see so many people without work or money … a political crisis looming.  And so many other countries in similar positions.  Well, it’s hard to be optimistic.”

“But you got married,” said Tim.  “That’s a hopeful thing to do, isn’t it?”

Tony smiled, “Yes it was.  And I do believe, most of the time, that those of us who survived have a duty to live our lives well.  Have you heard the quote, the epitaph,

When you go home, tell them of us and say,

For your tomorrows these gave their today?”

 

Tim shook his head. 

“I like those words,” said Tony, “But it adds to the responsibility.  But that’s fine, I’ve l lived with responsibility almost all my life.  And I’ve always coped.  But then there was Andrew …”

“Andrew?”  Tim thought back and remembered Gibbs coming back from Tony’s home village in Oxfordshire and mentioning a cousin who hadn’t come back from the war.

Tony took a deep breath and was about to speak when a change came over his face and he stiffened, forcing the tiredness away.  “What does _he_ want?” he hissed.  Tim looked behind him to see who Tony was talking about and saw Christopher Norris walking towards them.

XXXXXX

Gibbs watched Tim hurry after Tony and then turned to Dorneget and said, in a milder tone than might have been expected, “How do we get to this Antony place?”

“It’s too far to walk.  And it’s in Cornwall rather than Devon,” said Dorneget a little coolly.  “I doubt there’s a car available, but we can go by bicycle.”

Gibbs wasn’t sure if he was being punished or not but nodded his agreement.

Gibbs found he rather enjoyed the ride out to Antony which turned out to be a couple of miles from Tony’s home in Saltash.  He allowed Dorneget to guide him to the Wool Pack Pub where they found the missing Petty Officer nursing a ginger beer under the benevolent eye of the local constable.

Despite Ned’s assertion that they had moved into a different county, it turned out that he knew the local bobby and was on good terms with him,

“Afternoon, Denzil,” he said.

“Ned,” returned Denzil.  “Who have we here?”

“Jethro Gibbs,” said Dorneget, “He’s American, like our friend here.  Gibbs, this is PC Denzil Flynn.”

“Ah,” said Denzil, “Another American.”

Gibbs decided to ignore this and addressed Symonds, “Gibbs – I’m with the Office of Naval Intelligence.  We’ve been looking for you,” he said sternly.

Lincoln Symonds seemed to shrink a little but spoke up bravely enough, “I was trying to do the right thing …”

Gibbs looked at Symonds, weighing him up before reaching a decision and nodding towards the glass in his hands, “What you drinking?  Looks good,” he gestured to the landlord, “I’ll have one of those too, please.”

Another nod dispatched Flynn and Dorneget to the bench outside the pub where they spent some time debating the prospects of their local rugby team.

“So,” said Gibbs, “You’ve got yourself into some trouble here, Son.”

“I know,” said Symonds, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Reporting to your superior officer is what’s usually recommended,” said Gibbs drily.

“I didn’t have time,” protested Symonds.

“Tell me.”

“I was out with some of the men.  They wanted to go into the pubs but I wasn’t keen …”

“But you went anyway?”

“Yes.  I don’t know many of the crew, it was a chance to get to know them.”

“And you stayed with them?”

“For a while but then they started drinking.  I’d heard stories about scrumpy … and wanted to stay clear of it.”

“Did you warn them?” asked Gibbs sharply.

A look of mischief flitted across Symonds’ face, “No,” he admitted, “But they weren’t really in the mood for listening!”

“Go on,” said Gibbs.

“This man came up to me.  Said he’d heard that I was a radio operator.  Tried to pump me on what I knew.”

“And what did you do?”

“I walked out but he followed me.  Said he’d heard about me from a cousin.”

“Mickey?”

“Yes.”  Symonds sounded surprised.  “How did you know that?”

“Never mind,” said Gibbs, “I’m asking the questions.”

“That got me worried,” said Symonds.  “It had come out on board that I had a cousin in England.  I told people he lived at Princetown – but I didn’t tell them that’s where the prison is.  My parents had told me Mickey was a bad lot …”

“Go on.”

“I went into another pub, but this guy followed me.  Started asking me questions again, I got nervous.  I was separated from the others … and if he was connected with my cousin – well, who knows what he wanted from me.”

“Why didn’t you back to the ship?”

“I was going to, but I got lost.  I panicked and then I saw a bus.  And I got on it.”

“You got on a bus?”

“Yes.  It came out here.  And I didn’t think anyone would look for me here.  It felt nice … and safe.  They had a room here, so I’ve been staying here ever since.”

Gibbs was momentarily lost for words at the thought that the person they had been looking for had been safely tucked up in a pub just a few miles from Plymouth.  “Why did you stay so long?” he asked.

“I didn’t know what to do.  I didn’t know how I could explain to Captain Dake, I thought I’d be in trouble.”

Gibbs sighed as he scrubbed his face with his hands, “Well, yes, you’re in trouble, Petty Officer but it seems you’ve come forward now.  That’ll stand in your favour.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Symonds, “I was running out of money.  And I knew the Nevada was leaving port soon.  What’s going to happen to me?”

“That’ll be up to your Captain,” said Gibbs, “Tell him what happened.  Now, are you sure you didn’t tell this guy anything?”

“No, Sir!” said Symonds vehemently.  “I would never betray my country!  That’s why I wanted to get away in case he did something to make me tell him.”

“All right, Petty Officer,” said Gibbs.  “You’ve caused a lot of people a lot of trouble, you know …”

“What happens now?” asked Symonds anxiously.

Dorneget and Flynn seemed to know that their presence was required and came back into the pub.

“Dorneget,” said Gibbs, “We need to get Petty Officer Symonds back to Plymouth.  Any ideas?  I don’t want to ride back with a passenger on my handlebars.”

“No, Gibbs,” said Ned, suppressing a smile at that picture, “I was talking it over with PC Flynn.”

“Yes?” said Gibbs who was beginning to learn that the Plymouth constabulary could not be rushed – or at least, could not be rushed by him.

“Dobbins,” said Flynn.

“Yes?” said Gibbs again.

“My brother-in-law …”

“Yes?” said Gibbs who was learning that not being hurried applied to PC Flynn as well.

“Works for Meadowsweet Brewery.”

Gibbs didn’t speak but took a less than fortifying gulp of ginger beer.

“He’s a drayman.  He’ll be taking the dray into Plymouth later on today with a delivery.”

“I’ll stay behind and take the Petty Officer back with me,” said Dorneget.

There was a twinkle in Gibbs’ eye at the thought of sending the Petty Officer back with the beer, but he kept a straight face and simply nodded.

“Unless you want to take him back,” suggested Dorneget.  Gibbs shook his head.  “Can you remember the way back?” asked Ned solicitously.

“I’ll be fine,” said Gibbs firmly, aghast at the notion that a US Marine could get lost.

Flynn and Dorneget exchanged a wink but kept a respectful silence.

“Symonds,” said Gibbs, “PC Dorneget here will take you back to Plymouth and deliver you to the Nevada.  I’ll let Captain Dake that you will be returning.”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir,” said Symonds.

Gibbs nodded and went to turn away, thankful to have solved one mystery.

“Sir,” said Symonds.

Gibbs turned back.

“The Englishman who was trying to get me to tell him secrets – he gave me his business card.  Do you want it?”

Gibbs nodded and took the card being held out by Symonds.

“Damn,” he said as he read the name on the card – Christopher Norris.

XXXXXX

“Norris,” said Tony as the new arrival approached.

“PD!” said Norris with apparent delight.  “How are you?”

“Do you care?” asked Tony.

“I am wounded by your distrust … and I would stay and argue with you, but I have a train to catch.”

“You leaving?”

“As you so astutely reasoned, I am leaving your fair city.”

“Back to London?”

“Indeed.  Thanks to your efforts, and those of your American colleague,” Norris bowed to McGee, “I have work to do in our capital.”

“And you’ve finished your work here?” asked Tony.

“Indeed, it was less fruitful than I might have expected,” said Norris.

“I hear you got the cold shoulder from my father,” said Tony.

“Yes,” said Norris regretfully, “He is very shrewd.  As I should have expected, of course.”

“Yes?”

“Oh, I would say so.  Like father, like son.  You are one of the most astute people I know, PD.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Tony.

“You should,” said Norris seriously.  “And you know, if you should ever think of pursuing another form of gainful employment … I would put a good word in for you.”

Tony laughed.  “Kit, you know that would never work.”

Norris smiled; it was a friendlier smile than Tim had seen on his face before and suddenly it seemed as he and Tony might be better friends than had first appeared.  “It was worth a try,” he said.  “And now I must fly … and see what I can do in London.  Farewell!”

“What was that about?” demanded McGee as he walked away.

“You heard,” said Tony, “He just offered me a job.”

“In a shipping company?” asked Tim.

“No, not a shipping company.  Kit Norris is someone else for whom duty is important – although he hides it well.”

“I don’t understand,” said McGee.

“Norris and I were at Cambridge together …”

“I know,” said Tim, “You told us that.”

“We were in the same regiment in the War.  Served together but Kit never really left …”

“You mean?”

“Kit works for the Security Service.”

“He’s a spy!”

“Yes, he’s a spy.  I didn’t know what he was doing down here … and he might really have been doing work for his family’s company.  He does do that sometimes as a cover but when I spoke to my father he told me Norris been sniffing around trying to get information – well, I think he’s been here stirring things up.”

“What?”

“Trying to make people think he’s in the market for secrets and seeing who he can flush out.  He tried with my father who was an attractive option as he has business links and is also obviously friends with your Secretary of the Navy.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t latch on to our missing Petty Officer in the same way.  I’ll ask Gibbs if Symonds mentioned him …”

“And what’s he going to be doing in London?”

“Ah, he’s going to be doing the investigating of the three men we caught at Picklecombe – or at least, he’ll be helping.  Although he would like to give the impression that he’ll be doing all of it!”

“And he offered you a job as a spy?” said McGee.

“Not for the first time,” said Tony.

“Golly,” said Tim.  He digested this thought for a while before saying, “And you and he are friends?”

Tony thought about this for a moment or two, “Not friends exactly.  He’s rather annoying … but there’s something about him: it’s hard to stay mad with him.”

Tim took a sip of his cold tea and grimaced at its temperature and ‘stewedness’ and then he remembered that Norris – Kit – had interrupted them.

“You were saying before – about coping … but you mentioned Andrew …”

“Oh yes, Andrew.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yes … and no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there! One more chapter to go, I think … although I keep thinking that!


	10. Chapter 10

“McGee,” said Gibbs when he returned to the police station, “I told you to go find DiNozzo.”

“I did,” replied Tim.

“Then where is he?”

McGee thought about pointing out that he didn’t have handcuffs with which to restrain Tony but thought better of it … as he so often thought better of retorts to Gibbs.  He settled instead for saying, “He’s fine.”

“What do you mean, _he’s fine_?”

“He’s fine,” repeated Tim.

Gibbs gazed at his colleague, “He’s fine?  You sure?”

“Well,” amended Tim, “As fine as he can be at the moment.”

“You talked to him?” asked Gibbs.

“Yes, Boss.”

“And?”

“It helped, I think.”

“And?” said Gibbs again.

“And I think … I think I won’t tell you what we talked about.”  Tim braced himself for a Gibbs blast but was surprised when Gibbs simply nodded.

“Except,” continued Tim with relish, “It turns out that Christopher Norris works for the British Security Service!”  It wasn’t often that Tim could surprise Gibbs, but he thought he had just managed to do so although it took an expert in Gibbs facial expressions to detect shock in the slightly widened eyes and suddenly thoughtful look in those eyes.

“What?”

“That’s what Tony says.  He came to say goodbye – I get the impression that he and Tony are better friends than they let on.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.

“Bit like you and FBI Agent Fornell,” said Tim.  “You know, loving to hate one another.”  Tim held his breath, wondering if he’d gone too far but Gibbs simply grinned and said,

“That’s what you think, is it?”

Tim nodded bravely and waited for a biting response.

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  “And where’s DiNozzo now?”

“I left him at the quayside.  Near that café we’ve started using.”

“Huh,” said Gibbs.  Tim wondered about being brave enough to ask if _huh_ had become his favourite word but decided he’d diced with enough death for one afternoon so nodded instead.

“Huh, I could do with a coffee.  Thirsty work riding out to Antony.”

“What about Symonds?” asked Tim belatedly remembering where Gibbs had been.

“In the safe hands of the Plymouth constabulary.  They’re bringing him back with a beer delivery.  Looks like he just panicked and hopped on a bus.”

“On a _bus_?” said McGee, apparently sharing Gibbs’ feeling that an intensive manhunt shouldn’t have been thwarted by somebody simply catching a bus.

“Yeah.  He’s been laying low, but his money was about to run out and he knew the Nevada would be heading out soon.”

“And why did he run in the first place?”

“He felt threatened.  By our _spy_ ,” said Gibbs.

Tim shook his head, “Boss, do you get the feeling that nothing seems to be _normal_ here?”

“You may be on to something, Tim.  Hey, I’m going to get that coffee.  Get in touch with Captain Dake and tell him his missing Petty Officer will be along soon.”

“And what should he do with him?” asked Tim.

“His decision,” said Gibbs, “I’d suggest he listen to his story before throwing the book at him.”

XXXXXX

Gibbs found Tony still sitting at the café.  He wondered how long Tony and McGee had been talking but realised that he had cycled pretty fast both to and from Antony.

“Hey!” he said by way of greeting.

“Hey yourself,” returned Tony.

“Want another one of those?” asked Gibbs pointing to the teapot on the table.

Tony shook his head, “No.  I think I’ll dissolve if I drink anything else.”

Gibbs saw a waitress lurking nearby and nodded: she nodded back and hurried indoors to get the order.

“You know,” said Tony conversationally, “Considering you’ve only been here a few days you’ve got an awful lot of people in Plymouth running around after you.”

“It’s a gift,” said Gibbs modestly.

“What happened with Symonds?” asked Tony.

“He ran because he was scared,” said Gibbs, “And because a bus came by conveniently.”

“An unlikely tribute to the Plymouth Bus Company,” said Tony absently.  “What was he up to?”

“Your friend Norris was nosing around,” said Gibbs.

“Ah,” said Tony, “I wondered if that might be the case.”  He sensed Gibbs’ disapproval and hastened to say, “I only wondered after he came to say his farewells.  And my father mentioned that Norris had been sneaking around him asking questions … made me think he might have been _agent provocateur_ ing … you know, stirring things up.  How do you think he latched on to your Petty Officer?”

Gibbs paused while he delivered a hard stare at Tony to try and check his truthfulness and then, apparently satisfied, said, “You remember I said I thought Mickey Symonds knew something?”

“Yes, but you didn’t know what,” said Tony.  “You don’t think he’s involved with spying on top of everything else, do you?”

“There isn’t any spying,” said Gibbs firmly, “But I think Mickey was muddying the waters.”

“Why?”

“They may not have met but I’m pretty sure there’s some bad feeling there,” said Gibbs, “At least on Mickey’s part.  I reckon he knew his cousin was coming and thought he’d arrange for a rumour to spread around Plymouth.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Tony.

“And if the rumour of a spy ring distracted the Plymouth Police Force, then that could work in his favour as well,” added Gibbs.

“Huh,” said Tony unconsciously imitating Gibbs as he pondered the Symonds’ parts in the confusion of recent days.  Then he remembered what had happened when he last saw Gibbs and he winced before saying, “About earlier … I’m sorry about losing my temper like that.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Doesn’t matter.  No damage done.  Or there was - a cup got smashed but when I went past the reception desk just now, it looked as if Travers was gluing it back together.”

“He’s a good man,” said Tony.  “But still …”

“Still nothing,” said Gibbs firmly.

For a moment it looked as if Tony would argue the point but finally he nodded agreement before saying, “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“Sending McGee after me.  Although I think the poor chap was worried he’d have to fish me out of the water.”

“Was he right to worry?” asked Gibbs.

“No.  I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Then why did you thank me?”

“You know, I’ve been waiting for days for you to collar me, force me in some _meaningful_ conversation.  You’ve been circling, hovering for ages … waiting for an opportunity …” Gibbs shrugged rather than answering.  “And I’ve been braced – ready to _repel all boarders_ ,” grinned Tony.  “And it worked but then you tried another tactic.”

“What was that?”

“You sent McGee … and I cracked.”

“He’s easy to talk to,” said Gibbs.

“And he looks so unthreatening,” said Tony, “You should think about letting him do interrogations, you know.”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Gibbs. 

“It worked on me,” said Tony, “I talked more than I have for ages … but you know all that.”

“No,” said Gibbs, “He told me you’d talked to him, but he kept what you said to himself.”

“Good man,” said Tony, “Maybe he should be a priest.  You know, the seal of the confessional and all that.”

“I’d rather keep him in the job he’s got now,” said Gibbs sternly.  He took a drink of his coffee, “If you want, you can tell me as well,” he said gently.  “As a friend.”

“Thank you, Gibbs … Jethro.  Although I think you’ve probably guessed most of it.”  Gibbs gave his characteristic shrug and Tony continued, “I told Tim, I’ve always been someone who coped.  Thought they had a duty to cope – and it worked for me, it wasn’t really a struggle.  Coping was part of me.  And I liked to fix things – well, not _things_ – I’m not that practical.  But I cared about people, about making things better for them.  And it was good.  It wasn’t that I didn’t _think_ about things – I did but I was good at compartmentalizing them: knowing what I could do something about and trying not to worry about the rest.”

“Sounds good,” said Gibbs mildly.

“Then I met Lucy … and that was great.  We got married and she came to the house in Saltash.  Perhaps we did too much.”

“Too much?”

“I’m sure it’s not recommended to get married and then start tearing your house to pieces!  But the other cottages came up for sale and it seemed a good opportunity.  And people around here are desperate for work, so it seemed good for other people too.”

“Fixing people again …” commented Gibbs over his coffee cup.

“I suppose.  And then there was Andrew … and that was when it seemed to go wrong,” said Tony sadly.

“Andrew, your cousin …”

“Yes.”

“And your son …”

“Yes.  I wonder sometimes if it was a mistake calling him Andrew, but we never really thought of any other name for him.  Andrew and I were cousins, but I think we were more like brothers – we grew up together and went away to the same school.  The only time we were really separated was in the war – we weren’t in the same college at Cambridge, but we were still near one another.”

“And the war separated you?”

“Permanently,” said Tony, “But I think I got over that.  Had to really because I had to be strong for Aunt Lottie.  Andrew died just a few months after Uncle George was killed – she needed my support … so did my grandfather.  And it was war, there wasn’t much time to grieve.  And you know, at other times someone’s grief is so personal to them but in war, grief is commonplace – there’s not much special treatment on offer.”

“So you did what you had to?” said Gibbs.

“Yes.  Of course.  And I didn’t mind.  And that’s all in the past.  Then the baby arrived, and we called him Andrew as a tribute to the man I’d grown up with.  And we gave him Gordon as his second name.”

“Gordon?”

“Yes, you remember Pondie … Mrs Pond, my aunt’s housekeeper?”

Gibbs nodded at the memory of Dora Pond and her wonderful jam.

“Gordon was her son.  Andrew and I grew up with him as well – played and got into trouble together.  And he went off to war, and he didn’t come back either.  So we named our son Andrew Gordon after two special people.”

“They would have been proud,” said Gibbs.

“I hope so.  And I loved my son from the moment he was born,” said Tony with a smile.  “But …”

“But …?”

“Something changed.  It’s stupid but I started worrying about him.  Worrying about the world Lucy and I had brought a child into.  And I guess my job didn’t help.”

“Catching criminals,” said Gibbs, “Being at the coalface of people’s violence and cruelty … doesn’t always give you a balanced view of what people are like.”

“You’re right,” said Tony gratefully.  “And it was stupid, we were worn out living with the chaos of the rebuilding … I was busy at work because the Chief Inspector of Uniform was on assignment in Barnstaple … he’s on holiday now and due back next week.”

“And?”

“And I’m used to coping, so I did … I always do.  But it was harder, I was tired.  Not finding time to eat … always being in a hurry … feeling I wasn’t doing right by Lucy and Andrew.  And underneath, this nagging worry about the baby.  And then I felt guilty about that – hell, I’m a police officer: I should be able to make sure a _baby_ is safe.”

“You did everything you could,” said Gibbs.

“How do you know that?” demanded Tony.

“Because I know you,” said Gibbs, “I’ve never seen you do anything badly.  You’re always planning – noticing things.  I wouldn’t doubt that you did your best.”

“That’s what Lucy says,” said Tony wryly, “You and she will get on well.  And you’re right – sort of.  I felt I was doing my work well and I almost became glad I was so busy.  It meant that I wasn’t at home so much and I could try and forget that, while I was a good DCI, I was a pretty rotten father!”

“I don’t believe you’d be a bad father,” said Gibbs.

“You would have if you’d heard how my son wailed every time I picked him up,” said Tony ruefully.  “And I know it wasn’t his fault – he was probably picking up on my worries – but it didn’t exactly help the situation.”

“Did you … resent him?” asked Gibbs tentatively.

Tony stared at him in astonishment, “No, of course not!  I always loved him, cared for him … I wished I was better with him, better _for_ him … sometimes wondered what on earth we’d done but always wanted him.”

“And what happened then?”

“I thought I was hiding all the worry and fear … and then I realised that people were getting worried about me.  And that didn’t help – well, you know, there’s this whole _coping_ thing so I thought I was letting even more people down.  It didn’t help that my father started trying to get in touch and I felt as if I was being a bad son.  And then there was the threat from Mickey Symonds … for a moment when the brakes on my car failed I was almost grateful …”

“Grateful?” said Gibbs sharply.

“For a moment I thought I was going to die … and I thought that Lucy’s life would be better without me!”

“That sounds pretty stupid to me!” said Gibbs.

“Only for a second,” protested Tony, “Then my survival instincts kicked in and I steered the car to safety, but it was a wakeup call.”

“How so?”

“Made me realise how low I’d got … and I knew that Lucy and Andrew _wouldn’t_ be better off without me.  And then when we decided that it would be safer for Lucy to move out until we’d settled Mickey Symonds, well it confirmed it all for me.  Because I missed them so much … even Andrew’s crying!  I went to see them most nights – that’s why I’d come home late – but it wasn’t enough.”

“And did you do anything about it?” asked Gibbs.

“About what?”

“About how you felt?”

Tony laughed, “Forgive me, Gibbs but somehow you don’t strike me as someone who would encourage talking about _feelings!”_

“Maybe not,” conceded Gibbs, “But a wise person once suggested that talking about things could help.”

Tony grimaced slightly at this memory of urging Gibbs to seek help with his shellshock.  “You’re right, of course I know that you’re right … and I think it is getting better …”

“Yeah?”

“To begin with, knowing that people around me were worried about me … even before _I’d_ begun to worry … was another burden but recently it’s begun to feel like a help that I’ve got people who care.  And I think you helped too …”

“How?”

“You treated me as you did before … well, apart from hovering and gate-crashing my house, but you were demanding of me at work and that did me good.  Made me feel that I was still capable of working.”

“Always a pleasure to drive people hard,” said Gibbs cheerfully.

“And somehow I’m guessing that you goaded me into losing my temper,” said Tony.

“I saw an opportunity,” confessed Gibbs, “You’d kept control all the time and I figured that I needed to do something to jolt you out of it.  And me _accidentally_ mishearing the name of the place that Symonds had holed up in … well, it was an opportunity and I took it.”

“But _you_ didn’t follow me?  You left that to Tim?”

“That wasn’t my original intention.  I’d reckoned that I’d eventually force you to talk to me but after I’d made you lose your temper I thought you might open up to someone you weren’t mad with … and like I said, McGee is easy to talk to.”

“I suppose so,” said Tony, “But I want you to know that I’m still shaken by hearing you use the words _open_ _up!”_

Gibbs ignored this comment although, truthfully, he was surprised at his willingness to encourage Tony to talk about his problems.

“What next then?” asked Gibbs.

“It’s helped talking about it,” said Tony, “It’s good to have said it out loud rather than just rattling around inside my head getting louder and louder.  And I have two weeks’ leave starting next week and that will help.”

“Good,” said Gibbs.

“And you have to admit, Gibbs that it’s been crazy since you and Tim crashed into Plymouth …”

“We helped you catch Mickey Symonds,” protested Gibbs.

“Who wasn’t anything to do with you or why you’re here,” Tony pointed out.  “Then we went haring off after Tim’s mysterious radio signals …”

“And foiled an assassination attempt on the British king,” said Gibbs.

“Which also isn’t anything to do with why you’re here.”

“And found Lincoln Symonds,” said Gibbs.

“Who wasn’t a spy, who wasn’t in any danger and who gave himself up when he got bored of being on the run,” concluded Tony.

“But we’ve got some useful pointers on what floating operatives could do if they were stationed on US ships,” said Gibbs.

“You mean you’ve learned that it would be a good idea to tell sailors not to drink Devon scrumpy!”

“Well, yes,” admitted Gibbs.

“I could have told them that!” said Tony, “Doesn’t seem worth the time of two valued employees of the Office of Naval Intelligence.”

“Valued?” said Gibbs.

“Well, I’m assuming that you’re valued.  Or, if you’re not, that McGee is,” said Tony with a grin.

“You may be right,” said Gibbs.

“So, are you ever going to tell me what you and McGee are really doing here, Gibbs?” asked Tony.

“Nope,” said Gibbs.

Tony stared at him and then, copying one of Gibbs’ gestures, shrugged, “Well, I guess I’ll work it out eventually.  And in the meantime, I hope you can both stay until the weekend.  There are some people I’d like you to meet.


	11. Chapter 11

Gibbs went out early the next day to check with Captain Dake about Petty Officer Symonds.  When he returned to Tony’s house, he sensed a difference: the windows were open, and the smell of baking bread wafted towards him.  Gibbs knocked at the door rather than walking straight in.

“Hello,” said the blue-eye brunette who opened the door.  “You must be Gibbs … sorry, _Mr_ Gibbs.”

“Gibbs is fine,” said Gibbs automatically, “And how did you know?”

A laugh was the answer, “Tony described you.  And I don’t think I know many silver haired men with scary blue eyes!”

“Scary?”

“Don’t deny it!  I’m sure it comes in very useful!”

“I’m not admitting anything,” said Gibbs.  “And I’m guessing you’re Mrs Paddington-DiNozzo?”

“Oh, please!  Call me Lucy … or if you can’t manage that, try Mrs PD.  Life’s too short to keep saying Paddington-DiNozzo.  The trouble is Tony can’t bear to drop either part of the name, so we’re stuck.”

“Pleased to meet you, _Lucy_ ,” said Gibbs.

Lucy smiled back, “And It’s good finally to meet _you,_ Gibbs.  Come in, the bread has just come out of the oven … and although my mother’s cook used to say we had to wait until it was cold before we could eat it – well, it tastes so good when it’s warm.”

“Yes, it does,” agreed Gibbs as he realised that the smell of the bread and Lucy’s words brought back memories of a Pennsylvania kitchen and a mother scolding a small boy for sneaking pieces of crust off a freshly baked loaf.  He followed her into the kitchen, “You back for good?” he asked.

Lucy gestured for him to sit at the pine table.  “Yes,” she said as she cut off a good chunk of bread, “Help yourself to butter.  Yes, we came back this morning.  The threat from Mickey Symonds is gone … and I think Tony is feeling better.  Time to come back.  And I think I owe you a thank you for that.”

“No need,” said Gibbs, “I didn’t do much.  Just listened.  And Tony helped me a few years back.”

Lucy stared at him in a way that was oddly reminiscent of a Tony gaze, “I think you did quite a lot,” she said finally, “But I don’t think you want a fuss, so I’ll simply say, _thank you and I’m grateful – more grateful than you can know_.”

“Enough said,” said Gibbs firmly before putting a huge piece of bread in his mouth as a way of forestalling further conversation.

It seemed, however, that Lucy was a woman of her word and she contented herself with simply producing a large cup of coffee for Gibbs.  Gibbs continued to eat his way through his bread and butter and decided that his gut said that he liked Lucy: she seemed to be a serene and calm person although with an underlying sense of mischief which probably made she and Tony a potentially dangerous combination.

“How much longer is the building work going on?” asked Gibbs when he had finished his piece of bread.

Lucy cut him another slice, “Not too much longer.  PC Travers … you’ve met PC Travers?”

Gibbs nodded, “Can’t really help it.  He seems to be everywhere.”

Lucy smiled, “I know what you mean.  Tony swears that the whole Plymouth police force would collapse without him … although he doesn’t say that when Uncle Cyril is around!”  Gibbs nodded as he remembered that Lucy’s aunt was married to the Assistant Chief Constable.

“And what about Travers?” prompted Gibbs as he liberally spread butter on the bread.

“Oh yes.  PC Travers’ brother-in-law’s cousin’s best friend’s brother’s nephew …”

“Have you just made that up?” demanded Gibbs.

“I might have done,” admitted Lucy, “But you get the gist …”

“Barely,” groused Gibbs with a grin.

“PC Travers knows the people who are doing the work.  And he’s going to get them organized over the next couple of weeks while Tony and I are away.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Netley Green for a holiday.  We need to go far enough away that we won’t interfere, and that Tony won’t get called back to work.”

“Good idea,” said Gibbs, “Good place, Netley Green – restful.”

“And believe me, that’s what we need,” said Lucy cheerfully.  “But some of the work is done.  Would you like to see my studio?”

“Your studio?  Are you …”

“An artist?  Yes.  I see that Tony didn’t talk to you about me … never mind.  Yes, I’m an artist.  And the studio was only really finished yesterday.  I’ve moved my stuff in.  Come and see.”

Gibbs swallowed the last mouthful and followed Lucy.  She briefly looked into another room and Gibbs guessed that she was checking on her baby but before he could ask, she threw open another door and he saw the studio with paintings piled up against the walls and a couple of works in progress on easels.

“These are good,” said Gibbs as he gazed at the water colours and oil paintings of land and seascapes interspersed with the occasional portrait.

“Thank you,” said Lucy.  “They’re popular, sell well.  I’m getting ready for my first exhibition in London.”

“I can see why they sell,” said Gibbs, “They’ve got something about them – I haven’t been to any of these places, but I get the sense of what they’re like.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy again, “I’m glad you like them.  Actually, there _is_ one of somewhere you know …” she rummaged in a pile and brought out an oil painting, “This is of Picklecombe Fort.”

Gibbs suppressed a wince as he remembered their lucky escape at the Fort when the would-be assassins turned out to have poor aim.

“What are those?” he asked, pointing to some paintings propped up in a corner.

“Oh,” said Lucy, “They’re an experiment.  Just blocks of colour that I see in the landscape … sort of the essence of what I see rather than the detail …”

“They’re good,” said Gibbs as he went closer.  “I do wood working … and sometimes it feels that I’m trying to get to the heart of the wood.  These paintings are like that.”

Lucy nodded, apparently pleased that someone liked them, “That’s it!” she said, “I didn’t think people would like them.  I wasn’t sure whether to put any in the exhibition.”

“I’m no judge,” said Gibbs, “But I think you should.”

Lucy held out the painting of Picklecombe, “I thought you might like this,” she said, “You know, as a thank you … and as a memento.”

“Thank you,” said Gibbs, “But …”

“But what?”

“Could I have one of those instead?”  He pointed to the abstract paintings.  “If you don’t need them all for your exhibition?”

“Are you sure?  You don’t have to be polite, you know.”

Gibbs grinned, “Ask your husband – I don’t do polite!”

Gibbs and Lucy parted on good terms with Gibbs telling Lucy that Mrs Damerell had sorted out the _confusion_ over her guest house booking and now had a room for him.  Gibbs said he would come back later to collect his things and move out.

XXXXXX

Gibbs arrived back at Saltash in the early evening and saw Tony in his front garden.  As he approached, he heard Tony say,

“And that’s a plant … with green leaves.  And this is another one … this one has pointy leaves.  And this one has pink flowers …”

“Didn’t take you for a gardener,” said Gibbs drily.

Tony turned around, “And I’m guessing you still don’t!  Gibbs, meet Andrew …”

Gibbs nodded as he realised that Tony was holding his son as he talked about the garden.  Gibbs was good with children but didn’t quite know how to talk to a baby while under the watchful eye of a parent, so he settled for holding out a finger.  It seemed that Andrew, like his father, wanted to please people so obligingly took it in his hand and then, not so obligingly, put it in his mouth.  Tony gently pulled it out, “Fortunately, he’s not got any teeth yet,” he remarked.

“Good grip,” commented Gibbs.

“Yes,” said Tony proudly, “I think he’s going to be a rugby player.”

“Do rugby players need a good grip?” asked Gibbs curiously.

“Oh,” said Tony, “I suppose so, but I just think he’ll be good at rugby.”

Gibbs suppressed a grin as he realised that Tony was simply unashamedly proud of his son.

“Lucy said you were coming back to pick up your gear,” said Tony.  “You don’t have to move out, you know.”

“Best to,” said Gibbs, “After all, we’ll be leaving soon.  Best to break myself in gradually.”

“What?”

“You know, get used to being without you,” said Gibbs with a straight face.

“McGee told me you only make one joke a year … and that you made one the other day.  What’s up?”

“Must be the sea air,” said Gibbs solemnly.

Tony stared at Gibbs, “I get the feeling you blame a lot on the sea air!”

“He’s not crying,” observed Gibbs.

“What?”

“You said your son cried whenever you picked him up,” Gibbs reminded him.

“As he grows up he’s getting to be more discriminating,” said Tony.  “And I might have exaggerated a little.  It’s just when you’re feeling …”

“Low?”

“Yes, low – well, things get to you that you’d shrug off other times.  And a baby’s cry  just gets to me … or it does now that I’m a parent: before that I just thought it was an annoying noise but now …”

“I know,” said Gibbs.

“You sure you want to move out?” asked Tony, “I mean, you’re almost one of the family now.  Lucy won’t mind.”

“We’re heading out tomorrow,” said Gibbs.

“You are?”

“The Nevada leaves port tomorrow.  We’re going with her.”

“ _We_?  You’re taking Tim on a boat?”

“She’s making some courtesy calls along the South coast: Southampton, Portsmouth and then finishing up in London.  We won’t be going far out into the Channel, so McGee should be OK.  And we can test your theory about his seasickness.”

“Fair enough,” said Tony.  He looked closely at Gibbs as he added, “And it will give you more chance to test out whether having someone from the Office of Naval Intelligence sailing with the US Navy is a good idea.”

“Yes, it will,” said Gibbs blandly.

Tony sighed as he gave up, for the time being, on working out why Gibbs and McGee were really in England.  “How long will you be in this country?”

“Not sure.  The Nevada has another week before she goes off to the Mediterranean.  Depends when we can get a ship back.”

“If you’re still around for 19th July … there’s something you could come to in Netley Green,” suggested Tony tentatively.

“We’ll see,” said Gibbs, “Give me the details.”

Tony nodded and shifted the baby in his arms, “In case we don’t see you – I’ll say thank you again, Gibbs.  I’m not sure what you did or how you did it, but I feel better … I’m still worried but it seems more manageable now.”

“No need for thanks,” said Gibbs.

Tony held out his hand and Gibbs shook it.  “Tim said you were thinking about making a list of rules,” said Tony, “I hope not accepting thanks won’t be on it.”

“We’ll see,” said Gibbs.

XXXXXX

“Welcome to Netley Green,” said Gibbs when he drew the rented car to a halt outside the Woolpack Inn in Netley Green the following Saturday.

“Woolpack?” asked Tim as he looked around.  “Wasn’t that the pub where you found Lincoln Symonds?”

“Yes.  I get the feeling that the British aren’t all that imaginative in naming their pubs,” said Gibbs.

“You may be right,” came a familiar if unexpected voice from the shade outside the inn, “It is something which I intend to study when I have the time.  Although I will admit that I have already given the subject a great deal of _informal_ attention in my peregrinations around the country visiting local hostelries …”

“Ducky!  Dr Mallard!” exclaimed Gibbs and McGee in unison.

“Indeed,” said Ducky as he walked towards them.  “It is a pleasure to see you both again.  Timothy, you are looking a lot _leaner_ than when last I saw you.  In general, I would commend efforts to lead a healthy life style, but I would also want to caution you about the dangers of …”

“Er, Boss,” said Tim hastily, “I’ll go in and make sure they have our rooms’ booking!”

Gibbs discerned a look of satisfaction on Ducky’s face and he suspected the good doctor of some subterfuge in getting rid of McGee.  Ducky spotted the look and had the grace to look a little ashamed,

“Quite right, Jethro.  And I will make amends to young Timothy later.  I wanted, however, to have an opportunity of a private conversation with you before the festivities of the weekend begin.”

At that moment the landlord of the pub came out with two tankards of beer, “Saw you arriving and thought you might be in need of some _lubrication_.”

“Thank you … Barthrop, isn’t it?” said Gibbs.

“Yes, Sir.  And you’re a friend of Mr Anthony, aren’t you?  I remember seeing you a few years back.  Well, enjoy the beer, it’s my finest brew.  Your room is ready when you want it.”  With that, he withdrew feeling that honours were equal with Gibbs remembering _his_ name and Barthrop remembering who _Gibbs_ was.

“You did well with Anthony,” said Ducky after he had taken his first sip of the ale.

“Hmm,” said Gibbs in reply.

“We all felt something was wrong but could not work out what it was, but Anthony tells me that he finally shared his … worries … with you.”

“And McGee,” said Gibbs sparing a moment from enjoyment of his drink.

“Indeed.  Excellent.  Well, Anthony has now felt able to share what was weighing him down.  You know, doctors have long been aware that women can suffer from depression and anxiety following the birth of a baby, but it is now being recognised that men can suffer from similar symptoms when they become fathers.  They often can become anxious and over worried about their children.”

“And that’s what happened with DiNozzo?”

“I believe so.  And of course, it may well be that some of the feelings of worry stem from suppression of anxieties in the war years.  Who knows?”

“But he’ll get better?” asked Gibbs.

“I believe so.  Anthony has a lot going for him … I believe you have met Lucy, his wife?”  Gibbs nodded.  “A delightful girl.  Although of course, I am biased.”

“You are?”

“Indeed.  Lucy’s mother is my cousin, so we are related.  In fact, it was through me that Lucy and Anthony met.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Gibbs.

“Yes, I have never tried _matchmaking_ before, but my first attempt was so successful, I feel I should try it again.”  He looked at Gibbs speculatively.

“No!” said Gibbs firmly, “No way!”

“As you wish,” said Ducky serenely, “But we were talking about Lucy.  She is very good for Anthony – and he for her – so I believe he will come through this difficult time.  Indeed, I think he looks better already now that he no longer feels he has to carry the burden alone.”

“Good,” said Gibbs.

“It was most fortuitous that you had an assignment in England,” said Ducky thoughtfully, “And one in Plymouth …”

“Guess so,” said Gibbs.  He finished his beer, “Want another?” he asked, signalling that the conversation was over.

XXXXXX

The next day, in the afternoon, Gibbs was standing by the War Memorial just outside the church when Tony’s aunt, Lady George Paddington approached him.

“It was a lovely service, wasn’t it, Mr Gibbs?”

“Yes, it was,” said Gibbs.

“I am so glad that Tony and Lucy decided to bring Andrew here for his baptism.”

Gibbs looked at her closely, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.  Of course, it brought back memories of when _my_ Andrew was baptized at that font … all the hopes and dreams I had for him … we never imagined what would happen.  But they’re happy memories and I try to hold on to that.  And now, of course, I have this new Andrew.”  She smiled a somewhat watery smile.  “And I want to thank you … and Mr McGee … for all that you did for Tony.”

Gibbs sighed, he was becoming weary with all the Paddington thanks, “I didn’t do much,” he said once again.

“I think we both know that’s not true,” said Lady George, “Tony needed to share his worries and, somehow, you managed to make that happen.”

“I’m not sure,” said Gibbs, “Your nephew is pretty resilient.  I reckon he’d find a way through in the end.”

“Very well,” said Lady George, “I won’t press the matter but will simply say _thank you_ ”

Gibbs nodded.

“Now, come and meet the rest of the family – we are having a celebration tea in my garden.  Tony’s grandfather will wish to speak with you … and his cousin Crispian, the godfather, is also here.”

As Lady George went to move off, Gibbs stopped her, “You will carry on writing, won’t you?  You know, keep me informed?”

She turned and smiled, “Certainly.”

A few minutes later, Gibbs and McGee were in Lady George’s garden where Gibbs introduced McGee to the wonders of Mrs Pond’s jams and preserves.  Dora Pond, Lady George’s housekeeper, and the mother of the Gordon after whom Tony’s son had been named, was a happy if restrained presence at the party.  McGee became an instant favourite with her as he started eating his way through a variety of homemade scones and jams with cream from the Netley Estate’s Home Farm.

As Gibbs watched his colleague eat, he became aware that Tony had come to stand next to him.

“If Tim carries on eating like that, he’ll be back to his former weight in no time,” he commented.

“Still got an Atlantic crossing to get through,” replied Gibbs, “That’ll help.”

“Did he get seasick on the trip up to London?”

“No,” conceded Gibbs, “But it was smooth most of the way.  Atlantic will be different.”

“He may surprise you,” said Tony.

“Here,” said Gibbs, “Got something for Andrew.”  He handed Tony a small box.

“Gibbs!  We can’t take this,” said Tony when he saw the contents.

“Yes, you can.  I’m not going to wear them,” said Gibbs as he looked at the gold cufflinks given to him by the King.  “They’re more his sort of thing.”

“How do you know?” demanded Tony.

“He’s your son,” said Gibbs simply.  “I’ve kept the letter that came with them – that’s more important than the cufflinks.”

“If you’re sure,” said Tony.  “Of course you’re sure.  You’re always sure.  We’ll make sure he treasures them.”

Tim looked up momentarily from his scones and saw that Gibbs had delivered a gift.  Tony noticed approvingly that Tim was wearing the tiepin which had been his gift from the King and then that he was holding out a package.

“For Andrew,” said Tim, “For his Christening … I mean, baptism … I mean …”

“Thank you, Tim.  You know, we didn’t invite you both here to get presents.”

“Well, in that case …” said Tim making to withdraw the package.

“But we’re very grateful,” said Tony hastily as he grabbed the parcel.  He tore the wrappings off.

“It’s a children’s science book,” said McGee happily.  “It’s the latest edition of _The Children’s Wonderful World of Science_.  What’s the matter?” he asked in sudden concern at the look on Tony’s face.

Tony shook his head, “That’s amazing, Tim!”

“Really?” said Tim, “’cos you look kinda shocked …”

“I am,” said Tony, “My Mom gave me the edition that was around when I was eight – it was the last gift she ever gave me.  And it got me interested in science.  Thank you, it’s great.  Perfect!”

Mrs Pond sensed the success of Tim’s gift and, as a reward, came over with a slice of her famous fruit cake.  Tony went to show the gifts to Lucy while Gibbs sat down next to Tim.

“So, Boss,” said Tim, “Let me try this again - we came here because you knew Tony was in trouble?  You knew SecNav wanted someone to try out this floating agent idea and you volunteered us?  Nobody could believe it when we got the job – everyone assumed there was some hidden reason behind it.  And there was, wasn’t there?  It’s just that it wasn’t a matter of national security.  Am I right?”

Gibbs stared at Tim over a scone piled high with cream and strawberry jam, “Like I said before, you’ve got a good imagination, Tim.  You really should write a book.”

“Well,” said Tim, deciding to seize the moment, “I wanted to talk to you about that …”

XXXXXX

Later that afternoon, Gibbs went and found Tony and Lucy, “We have to be going now.  We’ve got an early morning sailing from Southampton.”

“One last chance,” said Tony, “For you to tell me what you and Tim were really doing.  What your assignment was.”

“You know what it was,” said Gibbs, “All the other stuff that happened was just coincidence.”  He blinked as he remembered that his potential list of rules contained one about coincidences, but he continued, “And we’ve got useful information to take back to SecNav.”

“That’s the Secretary of the Navy,” whispered Tony to Lucy before grinning at Gibbs, “Well, I’m glad you came,” he said finally, “It’s always … an experience.”

“Offer’s still there,” said Gibbs.

“Offer?” asked Lucy.

“Gibbs once offered me a job with the Office of Naval Intelligence,” said Tony.  He turned to Gibbs, “Thanks, but no thanks.  I’ve got a lot going on here at the moment.”

“Fair enough,” said Gibbs.  “Fair winds and following seas.  To all of you.”

Lucy leaned forward and kissed Gibbs on the cheek.  Tony shook his hand warmly but said nothing more.

“Car’s ready, Boss,” said Tim coming up at that moment.

“Thanks, Tim … for everything!” said Tony shaking him by the hand as well.

“It was … an experience,” said Tim unwittingly echoing Tony’s earlier words, “And you know, we never got a chance to talk about your Natural Sciences degree …”

“McGee!” snapped Gibbs from the garden gate, “Get a move on!”

“Coming, Boss,” said Tim for what seemed the millionth time since he met Gibbs.

XXXXXX

Later that evening, while Lucy was putting Andrew to bed, Tony sat with his Aunt in the garden.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“Oh, lots of things.  Too many to list.  But I meant thank you for what you did a few weeks ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“Writing to Gibbs.”

“Pardon?”

“I think you wrote to Gibbs saying that you thought I was in trouble of some kind.  And I think that you glimpsed what it was … naming the baby _Andrew_ brought back memories for you and I think you knew that it did for me too.  That perhaps I wasn’t coping …”

“Tony …”

“Aunt Lottie, I know that you were in contact with Gibbs … he told me about the cutting about the wedding – although he thought it was from the Titler!”

“I …”

“And it’s the only thing that makes sense.  I thought to start with that he and McGee were on some sort of secret mission but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the case.  It took me a long time to work it out …”

“Why?”

“Because at first it seemed impossible that someone should travel that far to help me.”

“But …”

“But in the end, when I _eliminated the impossible …”_

_“Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,_ ” said Lady George, completing the quotation.  “You and your Uncle George always loved your Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes,” smiled Tony, “I realised it was the only possible reason for Gibbs to have come to Plymouth.  Nurse-maiding sailors is the last job his superiors would have given him, but it gave him the alibi to come.”

“Did you tell him?” asked Aunt Lottie.

“No,” said Tony, “I thought about it, but I decided to respect his silence.  He didn’t want anyone to know how much he cared, how much effort he was prepared to put in to help someone he barely knew … those were the terms on which he wanted to help.  I decided I owed him the right to do it the way he wanted.”

“I think you’re right,” said Aunt Lottie, “He’s an … _unusual_ man.”

Tony laughed and clinked his tea cup against his Aunt’s, “You have a way with words!”

“What are you laughing about?” asked Lucy, coming into the garden at that moment.

“Nothing,” said Tony, “Everything!  Suddenly there seems a lot to be happy about!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished at last. I nearly spilled over into yet another chapter but decided I couldn’t try your patience any longer, so this is a longer chapter than planned.
> 
> Obviously, I don’t own the characters whom I have returned, in good shape, to their 21st century boxes.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time and trouble to comment – it is much appreciated.


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